Sunshine
by The Silver Trumpet
Summary: An unkindness has ventured into Diaval's territory, demanding that he mate with their lead she-raven. But he only has eyes for his mistress. Together, the two of them plan to scare the raven away. But there is an effect to every cause, and a push to every pull. Maleval/Diavicent, contains lemon. Formerly titled Mates.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story contains lemon! If you don't like, don't read. It takes place just after the pixies have taken the infant Aurora into their care. Disclaimer: I don't own nuttin'. 'Cept I wish I owned Angelina Jolie and Sam Riley. But I don't. **

* * *

"Mistress, wait!" Diaval grabbed her wrist without thought, trying to shield himself from the magic that was bound to turn him back to his raven form. Usually, his wings were a comfort, a relief, and he could sleep easier knowing that he could easily escape from any predators or attackers. But he didn't wish to be a bird now. Not after what had happened hours earlier.

Her eyes were hot and angry. There was another emotion there, but she quickly covered it over. "Let go of me this _instant_." He swallowed hard and released her. He had paled exponentially; she was often angry with him for bumbling this or failing at that, but the rage in her eyes smarted a fury that he had never seen before. He tucked his hands beneath his arms and suddenly wished that he had left well enough alone. "Don't _ever_ touch me again."

"Yes, mistress." He stared at the ground and wondered if she would strike him. That might be considered hypocrisy, though, and he knew that Maleficent was many things, but she was no hypocrite. It was not for him to judge. She was his mistress and his queen; he was just the servant. He did wish she would let him explain why he didn't want to be a bird, but she obviously didn't care, and he really couldn't blame her. She was his mistress and his queen; he was just the servant. But even servants had personal problems, and for him, personal problems came in loads in springtime.

She sat with her back to a tree trunk, watching the sun set over the cottage where the princess and her incompetent caregivers lived. After a few moments of deliberation, he did so as well, careful to keep a few feet between them. Her hands were trembling. He knew that her pulse had been racing when he grabbed ahold of her, but it was instinct. He couldn't be trapped as a raven in the spring. Unconsciously, his hands began to drum on the ground while his eyes kept scanning the trees for any members of the unkindness that had appeared on the territory days before.

Maleficent tilted her head back against the trunk of the tree. "Diaval, stop tapping." She seemed to have forgotten that she was angry at him. Or perhaps she had simply decided to ignore his folly for once, rather than pointing it out or jeering at it.

He went rigid. "Yes, mistress." His hands stilled in his lap.

"There is something bothering you." Her perceptive eyes scanned his form, narrowed with her eyebrows arched at him.

"Yes, mistress."

She ground her teeth. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted to hear about his problems or not, but she had been the one to bring it up. Plus, it was a welcome distraction from sleeping. "Speak." Sleeping was a necessity for anyone to survive, she knew. But she had not slept soundly for over two years. The only way she felt safe was with Diaval close by, and it was not her right to make him stay awake while she slept, nor did she wish for him to know the overwhelming effect he had on her.

He swallowed hard. "I, um." Well, that was a brilliant start. "An unkindness ventured into the area." Blush colored his cheeks. "One of the she-ravens spotted me and has been trying to convince me to nest with her." His neck was hot. He scratched at it, not daring to look at her.

Her eyes flashed. "Diaval…If you wish for a family, I will release you. It is not my place to call you away from such things." The moon was rising. It illuminated her cheekbones, casting her face in a surreal light. All he wanted to do was touch her cheek. But he couldn't.

"I don't want to go with her." His voice was more juvenile than he meant it to be.

"Why not?"

"I…" Oh, gods. There it was. The_ question_. The question he wanted to answer, the one he couldn't answer. "I have imprinted upon someone else. But she is as uninterested in me as I am in this new bird, and she has no desire to build a nest or have fledglings. Especially not with me."

She gave him a slight smirk. "Perhaps I should have a talking to with this friend of yours. Why haven't I met her?"

His pulse resounded loudly in his ears, his fists white knuckled in the grass. _Surely you've seen your reflection before, mistress? _he wanted to say, but doesn't. "I told you, she doesn't like me." He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. But his face and neck were red, and he was glad of the darkness that shrouded him from her.

"You're keeping something from me, aren't you?"

Panic bounced around his chest, replacing his heart which had leapt into his throat. He choked it back down and replied, "No, mistress."

"That's a lie, Diaval." She looked up at the stars. "Dishonesty is not in the nature of any animal. It is a trait fairly exclusive to men and their cousins. I suppose I have poisoned you." Her green eyes were glowing, gleaming, distant, and he could almost—for the first time—see her vulnerability. "Does it hurt? Knowing that she doesn't love you?"

He looked down at the ground. "I relish in being in her presence every day, mistress." He drew lines in the sand with his fingers.

"You see her every day, but I never have?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he realized his fatal error.

He swallowed hard, deciding to sink his ship with grace and pride like an honorable raven should. "I am sure you have looked at your reflection many times, mistress." He closed his eyes against the flash of light that came from her eyes as she turned to him, mouth slightly agape. He prepared to be struck, either by her hand or by her magic, and braced himself. But no impact came. Only a rustling of dark clothing met his ears as she rose and walked away into the darkness. He didn't dare rise to follow her, instead curling into himself and managing to slip into sleep.

* * *

He awoke next to his mistress as a raven. She gently stroked his feathers, but did not look at him. An unbidden purr rose up from his throat; he relished in her touch. Unfortunately, his wakefulness made her touch stop. "I do not wish to see you today, Diaval. Go."

He tilted his head at her, but didn't make a sound, instead hoping that she would change her mind before he left. But she didn't. She repeated, "Go," and he went. He took to the skies and left her behind on the ground, watching the pixies try and fail to care for the infant Aurora.

He was half a mile away from his mistress when the crooning caw came from the trees. A sick feeling rose up in his stomach, and he immediately wished he would have stayed by Maleficent. The young she-raven flew over to him and landed there, purring. He stepped away from her. _I have no interest in you_. She followed him. _Go away!_ She extended her beak to his feathers and tried to preen his wings, but he moved away again and cawed sharply at her. There was only one being allowed to touch his feathers, and that being was not even a bird.

She glared at him and, in a flurry of feathers, they were upon him. A youthful gang of birds, presumably her brothers and friends. There looked to be about fifteen of them, and while Diaval knew himself to be the dominant male of the moors, there was no way he could challenge this many adolescents at once. He tried to fly away. A flash of black came from underneath him and dove at his belly. He felt his flesh rip. Several loud caws rose from his chest. He wasn't far from Maleficent; she might be able to hear!

Another bird came at him from above. Talons dug deep into his back. He flapped his wings and squawked, trying to spiral away from the bird, and ended up crashing to the ground. Something cracked loudly. The sounds that rose from his throat were no longer squawks or caws, but the shrieks of the dying as his leg snapped and buckled beneath him. There were beaks and claws and feathers all about; he scarcely noticed when they punctured his flesh. He shrieked again. She had saved him once. She would save him again. His vision faded out just as a cry of, "Leave him be!" met his ears.

Maleficent stumbled toward the form of her pet, the other birds dispersing at her appearance. She carefully scooped the wounded bird into her arms. His breaths were shallow and gradually lightening; blood was pouring across her hands. With hurried but gentle movements, she lay him back down and changed him into a man to assess the damage done. With soft hands she took off his tunic and sucked in a breath at the many deep, bloody gashes that covered his torso. She touched each of them and watched them knit together. But the blood was coming from his back. She grunted with effort, rolling him over, and examined the long, bloody streak down his back. The skin was almost unfurled like a rip in fabric.

"Oh, Diaval," she whispered. _Why did I send him away? I should've known he would be in danger with those other birds around!_ She touched the top of the scar and let her magic seep in. He gave a quiet whimper, the sound of a tortured animal. "Hush, be still. You're hurt." She didn't know if he was lucid or aware at all, but she was determined to soothe his injuries. Her eyes continued to scan him, faltering at his twisted leg. _Oh gods._ His back continued to knit itself under her magic. She placed her palm on his kneecap. "Be still," she whispered again. There was a clinking of grinding bone as her magic flowed into him. He gave a whine and tried to twist away from her. "Be still!" she snapped. His form went rigid and gradually relaxed.

The bones finally clicked together. She carefully wrapped it in some clean linen, making a mental note to keep him down for the next few days. A pool was nearby; she filled a discarded canteen with water and brought it to him, though he was unconscious. Then, having done as much as she could, she watched his chest rise and fall. His breaths were shallower than she liked and not rhythmical enough, but she trusted he would heal.

She tore a small strip off of her dress and wet it. Then she pulled his head into her lap and began to sponge his sweaty face. "Just keep breathing," she whispered to him, almost surprised at the sound of her own voice. "Just keep breathing." Her fingers gradually left his face to run through his soft black hair with its intermixed feathers. She had never touched anyone like this—not since Stefan, anyway, and she did her best to eliminate him from her memory, like a line in her memoir that was slashed away and erased.

By nightfall, his breaths had steadied. Her back and shoulders ached as they often did, but their pain was not caused by her phantom limbs, but by hunching over her servant's face for so many hours. Had it been hours? She couldn't be sure. All she could do was recall what he'd told her yesterday: how he had denied a she-raven in favor of her, how he had imprinted upon her and couldn't undo it even if he wanted to. And now he was in this grand mess all because he had denied a mate.

He wouldn't think of it as denying a mate. He would think of it as proving his loyalty to his mistress. But she would never have had him hurt in an attempt to show his honor. She found herself fighting to stay awake. Even if he was wounded, Diaval's presence gave her a sense of safety, and with that sense of safety came a desire to sleep. But she would not sleep until she knew he was safe. She would not rest until he had awoken and assured her that he was no longer near death.

A squawk came from a tree. A pretty raven, a bit smaller than Diaval's form, swooped down upon them, but Maleficent hissed at her. "Go away, you little devil! You let him alone! He doesn't want anything to do with you!" Her hands clasped his hair into white-knuckled fists.

The bird dared take a step nearer. Maleficent flung out her hand and struck it on the breast, sending her fluttering up into the air with a squawk. Fortunately, the brothers from her unkindness had long ago dispersed and left the area, probably afraid of the faerie's wrath. But the she-raven still didn't flee, instead perching on a branch. "Go away!" She slung a stinging hex at the bird, but she barely flinched. "This raven has found his mate! He belongs to me!" Jealous tears were budding in her eyes. "You go to another! This one is mine!" At another shot of sparking magic, the dark bird took to the skies.

Diaval's shoulders shifted slightly in her lap. "Mistress?" he mumbled.

Two cool hands cupped his cheeks. This wasn't his mistress. She would never touch him. But it was still her voice that met his ears. "Diaval."

He didn't dare move. Was this violating her rule about never touching her? He didn't want to anger her. "Hurts." That, he figured, was a good word to apply. If she was here, with him, then she could fix him.

"I know, I know. You need to lie still. No moving about."

He grunted in reply, unable to muster enough strength to say more. He didn't want to argue with her. But he did want one thing—to hear her voice. It was a sweet voice, delicate but powerful, but though he loved hearing it, she was not one to speak just for the pleasure of hearing her own voice. "Mistress…"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me a story?" His mouth was dry. He wanted to drink something, but she had commanded him not to move about, and he was afraid that he would broach her anger once again if he broke another one of her rules.

She guided the canteen to his lips and carefully tilted his head forward to keep him from choking. "Yes, yes. I'll tell you a story." After assuring herself that he'd swallowed, she put the canteen away. Then, she began her tale—the story of Rapunzel. It had been her favorite story as a girl; though mostly incompetent, Knotgrass was quite the clever tale-weaver, and it was on her tall tales that Maleficent had drawn much of her entertainment as a child.

The ache in her back grew steadily stronger. She arched it and listened to the satisfying crackle while she told her tale. Then she lowered herself onto the grass next to him, careful to watch his twitching face while she continued speaking of the princess with the remarkably long magical hair, and of her evil mother, and of her lover, the prince. "But the witch didn't believe that Rapunzel hadn't learned the prince's name, and she locked the princess up in a tall, inescapable tower." She swallowed hard. In Knotgrass's version, the prince's name had, ironically, been Stefan, though the pixie had told her the story long before she had ever met the boy. But Maleficent had changed it to Edward. Edward was a nice name for a prince, though it personally made her think of an old man. "Gothel said she would make Rapunzel stay in the tower forever if she didn't relinquish the name of her prince, but during the night, Edward came to her window. And he cried, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!'

"She did so, and he climbed up to the tower with her, and he invited her to a masked ball. He said that her wonderful magical hair would be her unique give away." She stroked her own hair thoughtfully while her tongue continued to ravel its twisted tale of Rapunzel's woe. Only one person had ever called her beautiful. Only one had ever liked her straight, stiff, dark hair with almost no texture. And she doubted that he had ever really liked her at all. In her mind, she changed his name to Edward. It made the pain more bearable.

She didn't understand why she was suddenly thinking these detrimental thoughts. She had never needed a prince to rescue her or to change her; she had been complete by herself, regardless of St—_Edward_'s human needs. She was dragged into the mess when he decided to abuse her for his human needs.

She was thinking too much. She shoved the thoughts away and tried to focus on her story. "Gothel cut away all of Rapunzel's beautiful hair, though. And she put a special charm on the tower so that the princess could never escape, and she would never again see her prince or meet her true parents." Maleficent paused here. Knotgrass had always given the story a happy ending—an ending where Rapunzel used her own magic to break the spell, or an ending where she found out she was actually a faerie and could fly to her prince, or anything in between. But there were no real happy endings in life. There was no such thing as love. _No such thing, no such thing_. A voice taunted her in her mind, and it questioned what it was she felt for the raven-man lying next to her. Love? Of course not; that was a ridiculous notion. Regardless of his proclamations of devotion to her, regardless of whether or not he had imprinted himself upon her, she could not love. She was incredibly fond of him, but she knew that her emotions toward him were not love.

"The story, mistress?" he prompted.

She blinked a few times, chasing away bleariness. She hadn't realized that he was still awake. "That was the end of the story, Diaval." Her fingers reached to touch him, but levitated over his face. He had not opened his eyes, not since he'd awoken, but she was afraid he would open them. He would open them right as her fingers touched him, and then she would have to explain why she was reaching for him. She supposed, though, if she touched him like that, she would have to explain anyway. And she could not explain because she did not know an explanation. So she tucked her arm back into herself.

He grunted in reply. His breaths leveled in sleep, and, upon laying her head on the velvety grass, so did she.

* * *

It was high noon when she awoke. She had no dreams. She never had dreams when she slept near him; he chased away her nightmares, and she was never imaginative enough to have dreams that weren't so. Thinking of him, she immediately sat up and scanned around for him. She had commanded him to be still, but he wasn't where she—

"Here, mistress." She turned to him, leaning his back against the trunk of a tree behind him.

She narrowed her eyes. "Did you walk?"

"No. I crawled." His eyes fell on his hands, which twirled uselessly in his lap.

She dragged herself over to him and sat next to him, trying to soften her expression. It was not truly his fault that he was so badly hurt, though she would like to blame it on him. An uncomfortable sensation came into her chest. She identified it quickly. Affection. She _liked_ the awkward way he twirled his hands when he didn't know what to say and was unable to fly away from her. She breathed. "Do you feel alright?"

"Never better," he mumbled. His hands stilled and crossed over his bare chest, and only then did she realize that she had taken his tunic last night. She summoned it and gave it to him. He slid into it with a grunt of gratefulness.

She gave him the canteen. "You need to drink." He took a sip and lay it back down, clearly unenthusiastic about having his mistress care for him so soon after chasing him away from her. She cleared her throat. She owed him an apology. It was on account of her that he was injured. "Diaval, I am sorry. I should not have sent you away. I knew you could be hurt, but I acted on impulse, and I was wrong."

"This was my fault, mistress." He stared at his hands before clenching them into fists. He should never have told her about his problems with the she-raven. And, even he had to admit, he had been quite rude to her in denying his advances. "I should never have approached you on the topic." Her words from his dream kept floating back to him. It'd been such a fine dream. _This raven has found a mate! He belongs to me!_ He swallowed hard and turned his hands again. The dream had been good enough to chase him into wakefulness, groggy and pained though it had been.

She leaned on the tree next to him. "That bird will not be bothering you any longer, I don't think."

His eyes widened. "You didn't kill her, did you?"

"You don't wish her dead?"

"I hardly blame her for wanting my beautiful self. Her brothers were…very overprotective, though."

Maleficent barely restrained herself from snorting in derision. "Protective's a word for it," she muttered. The hair on the back of her neck prickled at the jealousy in her voice.

Diaval's black eyes glittered. He had heard the implied envy as well, but was not going to remark upon it. He cleared his throat. "What of the beastie? Those nincompoops will have her dead by nightfall."

"Let them kill it. You are not going anywhere for the next week, and I will not leave you unattended for some spiteful bird to attack." Her voice told her emotion. It proved that she was attached to him in more ways than she wished to be. Oh, it told her affection for him, and it proved that she was as devoted to him as he was to her.

A slight, well-meaning smile quirked at his lips. "One would think you're jealous, mistress," he teased.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "One might be right," she replied, blinking evenly.

He smiled and rolled onto his stomach, laying his head in his arms. A yawn rose up from his chest, and, though the sun was still bright in the sky, he managed to slip into sleep. Maleficent sighed and tilted her head back. He needed to rest, and there wasn't much he really could do, being forbidden from walking for the time being, but boredom plagued at her. She drew swirls in the soil and hummed quietly to herself.

It had been a very long time since she had last sung; she had not done so since she was a girl surrounded by the songbirds and romantic notions of life and love. Now the songbirds were all gone, frightened away by her anger and rage, and the only ones that remained were Diaval and other carrion eaters. The thought made a flash of regret burst through her chest—only for an instant, and it was gone, but it was enough to make her see the harm she had done to her beautiful moorlands.

She tightly wrapped her arms about her chest. There was too much emotion. She wasn't supposed to feel anymore. Feeling was bad, because feeling meant attachment, and she couldn't risk attachment because she couldn't risk getting hurt. But, with a glance down at the man asleep beside her, she knew that she was already attached. And she was already hurting. She ached every time she looked at him and yearned for him in a way she shouldn't, and she ached each time she knew that she was hurting him for her own selfish desires.

His hand lay next to his body, palm up toward the sky. It was a long moment before she could bring herself to touch him; what if he awoke? What if he questioned her? What if? What if? She sighed at herself and hesitantly touched his hand.

She didn't know what she expected. A shock, perhaps, or maybe a large sign telling her to run away. But nothing happened. Diaval took a long, relaxed breath in sleep, and his fingers curled lightly around hers. A slight smile crept onto her face, and it wasn't the type of smirk she had presented to Stefan. It was something completely different and so truly real.

Time passed without her counting its minutes, and she remained still, holding his hand in hers, the slightest of honest smiles upon her lips. By the time dark had come, she had dozed off, but snatched awake at a dream that she couldn't recall.

She had never dreamed around Diaval before, but it left her feeling hot and cold at the same time. Discomfort wrapped its way around her. She took off her cloak and rose. She was too sweaty. Feeling suddenly dirty, she left her cloak next to him and headed to the pool nearby.

The water was chilly under the moon, but she slipped into it without thought, discarding her clothes on a rock beside it. She crossed her arms, gripping her shoulders slightly. Moonlight dappled down from the trees onto her alabaster skin, highlighting the dark protrusions from her back.

She was in water about her waist when the sound of limping came. "Mistress?" Diaval whispered, taken in awe by the sight of her.

She went rigid. Her back was to him. She felt exposed, though she knew the water concealed anything private. He could see her feathery stumps that quivered with the chill. Breath was suddenly hard to come by. "Yes, Diaval?"

He seemed to awaken from his stupor. "Sorry, sorry, I'll just—" He turned to crutch away, but the stick he had been using as a third leg splintered, and he collapsed. "Shit." He tried to scramble away, but her voice stilled him.

"Stop, Diaval. Don't hurt yourself." She had two choices: stay in the water until his leg was healed enough to walk away, or expose herself to him. (It didn't occur to her until later that she could have magically blinded him for a few moments to allow herself privacy.) "Don't look."

"Not looking, not looking at all." His voice was muffled. She peered over her shoulder, where he had buried his head into her cloak and crossed his arms over his head.

"Don't smother yourself, either," she murmured, unsure if he had heard or not. He gave no reply.

The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. She was there, in all her radiant silver beauty, under the moonlight with stars twinkling in the water about her. There were stars everywhere. The stars made a heat flow down between his legs in this foreign human body of his, and he felt shame for an unknown reason. He wanted more than anything to look, to see her, but he didn't dare. The stumps on her back, if anything, added to her surreal beauty. Broken prettiness was still prettiness, and his mistress, his queen, was most certainly not broken.

He could hear her leaving the water, could hear it parting for her slender limbs. Then there was no more water swishing, and he knew that if he looked now, he would see all of her. He would also most likely lose his life. He kept his face burrowed in her cloak. It smelled as she did—roses and honey and nature, and all the sweet things that she denied she still had within her. But they were in her scent. He knew that a person only smelled of the things most deeply engrained in them.

The popping of her back and a bit of a breeze gave her away as she sat down next to him. "I told you to stay in one place." Her voice was chiding, but not serious.

"Can I look now, mistress?"

"Yes."

He awkwardly raised his head up and slid her cloak back to her. "I thought somebody'd taken you or something, the way it was just laying there. I almost panicked." A blush tickled his cheeks. "Sorry, mistress."

She snorted. Leave it Diaval to assume she'd been kidnapped. "Do you feel alright?"

He nodded. "Yeah. My leg's a little sore, is all."

"No walking anymore for a few days." She glared at him. "I don't want to have to fix you again." With careful hands, she lifted the back of his tunic to check on the scar. She tutted under her breath at the large, bright red scar that adorned him. "Does this hurt?" She probed it with delicately. The skin was warm, and she could feel him tense under her touch.

"Just a little." His voice was tight, uncomfortable. She nodded and let the tunic fall down naturally. He seemed to let out a breathy sigh of relief. "Mistress, could you perhaps finish that story from last night?"

"The story was finished. Rapunzel grew old and died in the castle all alone. The end."

"That's not a proper ending!" he protested.

"It's an honest ending," she replied.

He grunted. "Endings are always happy," he finally insisted. "If it's not happy, that just means you haven't reached the end yet."

"You have ridiculous notions of life for a bird." She tried and failed to keep bitter bemusement out of her tone. There was a time, once upon a dream, that she would have claimed the same thing. But that was years ago.

He huffed. "I think Edward should climb up to the castle and break the enchantment, because he's actually a powerful wizard. Then he should kiss Rapunzel, and together they could take over the evil witch Gothel and kill her. Maybe they can kill her husband, too, and any children she has, and then Edward tells Rapunzel how beautiful she is without wuh—hair." He stopped abruptly, about to call himself out on his mistake, but then continued, "And they can have many children and live happily ever after ruling over their magic kingdom."

Maleficent was too astute to miss his slip of tongue. She debated pointing it out for a moment. But she knew that he could not control his feelings for her any more than she could control hers. "I think that's an excellent ending," she replied. She remembered grasping his hand earlier, and falling asleep to that uncomfortable dream that she couldn't let herself identify.

Diaval went stiff as a rail. "Mistress?" He moved to slide his hand out from under hers. She tucked her fingers about his palm without realizing that she'd even grabbed his hand. He swallowed hard and let his hand squeeze hers slightly. Black eyes met green. He could see the bright golden streaks there, brilliant as the dawn that was slowly crawling upon them.

A squawk startled them out of their moment, and in an instant, two angry male ravens were dive-bombing at Diaval. He threw his arms up to cover his face. He cringed away from the talons that grazed his hair for a moment. There was a flurry of movement about him; a soft body slid into his. A voice only identifiable as his mistress's squealed—yes, a legitimate squeal—and he could hear the sound of crackling sparks. Then the only squealing was from the mouths of the birds. He slid his eye open just quickly enough to watch yellow stinging hexes sail at their assailants; two more birds, one of which was his courtier, had joined in on the first two birds.

His mistress was snarling at them, hissing almost. It reminded him very much of an angry mother cat defending her kittens from a tom that dared trespass on her territory. Her body was curled into his. The heat was rushing between his legs again, and, though it felt very good, he didn't like it. Something in him sensed it was wrong to feel that way toward his mistress.

The she-raven perched on a branch above them and began to squawk accusations at him. Maleficent reached to hex her, but he stilled her hand. "No, mistress, please. Let her speak."

And the ebony bird did speak. She hurled words and bird slang that he had never heard before and never wished to repeat. Her claims were that he had no mate; if he had a mate, they would have already united themselves and produced fledglings. Instead, she was ashamed to let him look upon her bare body because it was so hideous and featherless. Anger prickled in his chest. "Be gone, little jealous bitch!" He longed to leap to his feet and shake his fist like the farmers used to do to him long ago. "You're not welcome here anymore!" He had had quite enough of her envious insults toward his mistress. "Go away!" A stone found his hand, and he lobbed it at her. It struck her breast, and she took to the skies

The last thing she told him was a loud caw that she would be watching them.

Let her watch. She would never see anything she liked because nothing would ever happen between him and his _mate._ "Diaval?" Maleficent's voice stirred him. She was still pressed against him. "What was all that about?"

He mumbled something unintelligible before replying, "She said some mean things that I didn't like."

She frowned. "About me?"

"About us."

His mistress gradually pushed herself away from him. She had never been a nosy creature, but curiosity plagued at her. What flaws did she have that a mere bird could point out? "What did she say, Diaval?"

He tensed. A lie, a lie, oh how he wished to lie. "Birds have a different concept of beauty than fair folk, mistress. She mocked my choice of a featherless body." His face quirked into a slight smile, but his eyes betrayed him.

"What else?" She always knew when he was hiding something. "Diaval, what else? I won't be offended."

"She used some slang and derogatory terms that I was unfamiliar with, but I think those were more directed at me." _Don't ask me anymore, don't ask, mistress, just let it alone_, he mentally pleaded.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Your face gives you away when you try to keep something from me, Diaval. Tell me."

He couldn't look at her. His voice lowered to a whisper. "She believes that the imprinting of mates isn't complete until unity is achieved between them." The dawn let her see the blush that colored his cheeks.

She gave a soft smile, but her eyes were sad. "Is that what you want?"

"Mistress, I told you earlier. I am satisfied merely being in your presence." His man body wanted something else, but he wouldn't let it yearn the way it was meant to. His love for her was not in the mysterious ways his body wanted, but in the little things—in the curl of her lips when she smiled, in the way she managed to stand erect and proud even without her wings, in the way she sought vengeance with hate but could still heal the forest and small animals with the most tender of touches.

She placed one of those tender touches on his cheek and leaned near to him, a moment of vulnerability rare in her eyes. Then her lips were on his. He had witnessed kisses before while spying in the kingdom. He had also seen some things he wished he hadn't between a man and a woman. Were those the things his body yearned for? Maybe.

This kiss was soft and kind to him. She tasted the way she smelled—like roses and honey and the forest surrounding them. Her lips worked in a rhythm unique to him. He didn't want it to end, his eyes falling closed. She pulled away, but his eyes didn't open again. "I don't know how to love you," she whispered. There was a quake in her voice that he didn't think he'd heard before; raw and real and vicious. She was emotionally exposed to him.

He let his hand slide away from hers. "Yes, mistress." He gave a sorrowful smile and put a few inches between his body and hers. He would wait. He would wait for her because she had been hurt badly, and she would need time. He would wait forever, if he had to.

She let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Diaval." The sunrise was bright upon them, but she had not slept since the uncomfortable dream had woken her. With her pet next to her, rest came upon her gently and she slept. He soon followed her into the world of dreams.

* * *

A week later, the ache had faded from Diaval's leg, and he could walk without hindrance, though he did have a slight limp. They sat outside the cottage under the thick shade of a weeping willow tree. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon.

The space between their bodies was slimmer than usual; autumn was upon them, and with it came a chill. Diaval had not flown since the attack. The raven's last warning to him—that she would be watching them—had not left his mind, and he didn't dare stray too far from his mistress's side unless directed to. Fortunately, she seemed to sense his desire to be near her, and she did not often send him away.

A caw came from the tree. Both their heads snatched up, glaring up at the bird. "Persistent little bugger, isn't she?" Maleficent muttered. She scooted closer to him and slipped her arm across his shoulders. His breath tightened in his chest as she leaned to his ear. "Play along with me," she whispered. Then she kissed him.

He shifted to face her more directly. This was a game, but it was definitely a fun game. He tentatively slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. Her arms snaked around his neck. Her tongue tickled his lips and pried its way into his mouth. She was practically in his lap, and he had absolutely no idea what to do. Human sensations overwhelmed his senses. She tasted good. She smelled good. She felt good, though his touch was tentative. He could hear nothing but his heartbeat and the sound of their kissing. His eyes were a distraction. He closed them. Who needed to see? His other senses could see her just as clearly. She was pure and wholesome to him. Beautiful.

Fear played at him. He didn't know where to touch her, what would feel good, if she felt the same way he did. Her body was different than his; he knew that much because she had breasts, round and soft. He reached to touch them. She gasped into his mouth, pausing only a moment, before sighing and continuing to kiss him. They were sensitive, he soon learned, and grew firm under his touch.

Her hands scoured up and down his torso until his shirt was discarded. She kissed down his neck and began to suckle there. He opened his eyes. The raven had left the tree. "Mistress?" he whispered. She paused and flicked her eyes up to him. "She's gone."

The fairy raised her eyebrow at him and drew away slightly. The feeling between his legs was stronger than it had ever been. "Do I care, Diaval?" she whispered.

"Mistress?" he questioned.

She didn't reply and resumed suckling on his neck. A hand, intentional and deliberate, stroked at the crotch of his pants, eliciting a soft moan from him. His hands slid beneath her shirt as well. Her skin was soft, smooth, silvery, and cool to his touch. He slipped them up her belly, which twitched as though ticklish, and back to her breasts. Much to his disappointment, they were still restricted by another piece of clothing. But he had seen this before on human women. He reached around her, mindful of the remnants of her wings, and carefully unhooked it.

Her hand continued to stroke his pants while she dragged her teeth across his neck. Then, remembering something he had once witnessed a human couple do, he fondled her breast with one hand. The other touched her between her legs and massaged lightly. She shuddered in ecstasy. "Diaval…" she breathed. She pushed him away slightly, and he feared for a moment that he had done something wrong before she continued, "Take off your clothes."

He complied, wriggling easily out of his pants. She did so, as well, much to his excitement. He didn't have time to drink in the sight of her bare milky skin before she was on top of him, and they tangled together. She lay across him, her hands and peppery kisses fluttering across him like they had the wings she lacked. He grabbed her rump and squeezed slightly. She mewled at him in reply.

But now, her breasts were there, before him, and his curiosity about them was at its peak. He stilled her with his hands and, in a matter of moments he was suddenly the one on top. He kissed down her chest to her nipple. Then he carefully took it into his mouth and suckled gently. She moaned and arched her back. He tentatively swirled his tongue around the peak of her nipple. Her fists tangled in his hair. He could feel her heart throbbing, alive, just beneath her skin, and he could sense that it wasn't attraction alone driving it. She was nervous. He was, too, but in a different way.

"Maleficent?" he whispered. It was the first time he could ever recall using her given name. It felt foreign on his tongue. "We can stop now, if you want." _I can wait. I can wait a lifetime._ He didn't want to wait, but she was more important than that.

She smiled. "I'm fine, Diaval." Her voice was breathless. He liked the way she said his voice. So he kissed across her chest to her other breast and gave it the same treatment, though he was watchful of her face just in case she changed her mind. His hand wandered downward, down between her legs, while he kissed her neck. He massaged the outside of her lips with light fingers. Then, ever so slowly, he let one finger slip in between her lips. He kissed back down her abdomen, dragging his teeth lightly across her alabaster flesh on occasion. Then he examined her flower.

She was beautiful. He understood, all of a sudden, why she smelled of roses as he kissed down to her patch of curls. He uncertainly licked between her lips. A nub met his tongue, and she gasped when he touched it. He drew away, unsure if it had hurt her. "Keep going," she whispered. Her fingers were tangled in the grass.

He nodded and slid his finger into her slit while he licked at her nub again, sucking a bit harder at it. "Beautiful," he mumbled. She tasted like roses and honey.

A whimper left her mouth. Her thigh muscles quivered. "Up here, Diaval."

He came up to meet her. She kissed him and pushed him over onto his back with a foxy smirk. "I like it when you're obedient," she whispered to him, and she bit his neck. It wasn't the light nibbles they'd been giving each other so far, but instead hard and deep into his flesh. And he moaned at it, a bit surprised, but very turned on. She slid down his body quickly until she was perched across his knees just before his hard shaft. After a few experimental strokes with her finger, he gave a hiss of delight, and she leaned forward to suckle on him. Her tongue swept around him, sucking ever the harder whenever he expressed pleasure at her. His thigh muscles tightened as he neared release.

She stopped and kissed back up toward his face. He mewled in protest. Her lips locked onto his. "Come on, Diaval," she breathed to him. "You know what to do."

He rolled back on top of her and pressed his face into his neck. His body was urging him to enter her. Her words rang in his mind. _You know what to do_. So he acted up his impulses and slid into her slowly.

She gasped.

"Maleficent?"

"I'm fine. Keep going."

He thrust himself into her deeply and pulled out, quickly repeating that motion again. Her walls hugged him tightly. Soon he was at his breaking point. He panted, hot breaths fanning across her face. She was starting to cry out, but not for him to stop. Her cries were cries of bliss. "Faster, Diaval!" she puffed. He did his best to obey, losing rhythm in favor of speed. It was _right there_—he was _right there_—and her walls clutched tightly around him, her hips bucking to the best of their ability while she came, and he quickly followed her.

He pulled her close to him, their bare, sweaty bodies cool in the lack of light. It was chilly. He planted some soft kisses into her hair while she was motionless save for her labored breaths. "Maleficent?" he whispered.

She was draped across him. "Yes?"

He didn't reply with any words, instead burying his face into her hair and inhaling deeply. "You smell good."

"Do I?" she teased. Humor twinkled in her eyes. He couldn't remember ever seeing that before. He nodded eagerly. She kissed his cheek. "I think we scared your bird friend away."

He laughed.

She stirred, reaching over toward the pile of discarded clothing. They began to shuffle back into their garments in silence. Diaval dressed much more slowly than she did; she was waiting for him to put on his shirt. He put it on. "Wait…this isn't my tunic…" He tugged at the sleeves before looking at her. "Give me my shirt!"

She looked down at the garment which was indeed his. Then she looked back to him. "I don't think I will," she teased.

He snatched up her cloak and held it hostage. "Trade."

"No." Her voice was firm in its usually bossy tone, but her golden green eyes were twinkling like stars. "What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine." She turned to walk into the trees.

"Mistress!" He trotted after her. "I can't wear your shirt! It's much too tight!" He pulled it off, careful not to rip it, and wrapped himself in her cloak to fight off the chill.

"That is not my name, Diaval."

"If I say please can I have my tunic back, _Maleficent_?" he exaggerated.

She tilted her head in fake deliberation. "…No. Mine now." She walked into the trees, letting him follow.

* * *

**A/N: I was thinking about continuing so that Maleficent is pregnant, but I thought it might just be better as a one-shot, or I could perhaps write the other idea as a sequel. I don't like rating things M when there's very little M content. :-/**

**When I wrote Diaval saying, "Give me my shirt!" I pictured Elsa in my mind screaming, "Give me my glove!" at Anna. Just a bit of humor for your day :)**

**Reviews are appreciated but not necessary! I love you all!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: As many people requested through review, I have decided to make Mates a multi-chapter fic under the title of Sunshine. I don't know how many chapters it will span over, nor am I even completely sure I'll finish it (with long stories, I tend to lose interest and forget about them), but I felt like the end of it was too abrupt and that there was more to happen between Diaval and Maleficent. **

**They might be acting a bit OOC; I find Maleficent a hard character to embody, especially in a relationship, but I ship them too hard to make them act reserved toward toward each other. **

**Disclaimer: Trumpet ain't got nuttin' but some good music and a crap ton of time.**

* * *

"Maleficent?" Diaval called through the trees. It had been two days since she had left him stationed at the cottage of the beastie, restricted in his human form. The little imp would be a year old in spring, but now was not time to think of such things. The winter was cold to him, the snow thick about his feet. "Mistress?" His mind wandered back to the day she had walked away, leaving him behind, after he had discovered her vomiting. She hadn't taken kindly to his immense concern and, growing impatient with his antics, she left him behind to ensure the infant didn't die by the hand of the pixies.

But a raven was sure to worry, especially about his mate, especially when she was ill, and especially when she hadn't returned in two days. His voice came into the still, cold air again. "Maleficent?" His breath billowed out in a cloud in front of him. "Mistress?"

A piece of ice caught his foot, and he skidded a few feet before unceremoniously collapsing into a snowdrift. He tried to find his feet quickly, but not quickly enough; his clothes were clogged with snow, cold and uncomfortable against him. "Maleficent!" he shouted, frustration filling him.

"I'm right here," she murmured. She sat overlooking a frozen pond; her powers had dried the ground beneath her.

He let out a sigh of relief and walked over to her, sinking down next to her. He earnestly examined her enigma of an expression. "Are you alright?" he asked, prodding at her hand. She nodded. "I was worried," he admitted softly. She intertwined her fingers with his and leaned her head against the trunk of the icy tree. "You're not sick, are you?"

Her eyes were closed. Her face was in a wry smile, but she looked pained. "Not quite," she replied tightly.

"Maleficent?" He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "Talk to me. What's wrong?" He went silent for a moment. "I have to take care of my mate," he tried to tease.

Her hand shakily lifted his and placed it on her abdomen. "I'm pregnant, Diaval," she whispered.

He went tense beside her. He knew that reproduction meant something entirely different for humans and fairies than it did for ravens. But a pulse of joy and apprehension went through him. "That's wonderful!" he murmured into her hair. The winter chill and his wet clothes suddenly didn't matter. "It is good…right?"

She bent over. "No. It's not."

"Tell me one thing that is going to be wrong with our child."

Her face grew pained. "It's not what's wrong with him…or her," she amended. "It's all this. I can't protect everyone…I can't battle Stefan's forces. If he finds out, everyone will be in danger." She shivered. "I don't…I don't know how to love, Diaval, I don't know how to be a mother because I never had one."

He leaned his crown against hers. "You never walk alone. I'm here. We're in this together." He gently rubbed her belly.

She pushed his hand away. "Stop. Tickles." Her breath warmed his cheeks. "You're cold and wet." Gently, she trailed her fingers across his robe and dried it. "I'm sorry I ran away. I was scared."

"I've never seen you scared."

"You must not pay very much attention, then."

He could remember when he had kissed across her chest, her heart aflutter just beneath the skin, and he had known that she was scared. He shivered and reached his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. "It's cold," he remarked. She was tense beneath his touch, but gradually relaxed into him. His voice was husky. "I told you Rapunzel would marry the prince and they would have children and rule their magic kingdom."

She stared at her stomach. "I don't think we're at the end yet, though," she whispered. "I think we're still just at the beginning."

He peppered her face in kisses. Three words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't dare voice them. He didn't want to hurt her. She'd been hurt before. He wouldn't chase her away from him, especially with his fledgling in her belly. Adoration was already thick through his heart. But he could express his words with his actions. "I'll take care of you," he murmured into her neck. He twirled some of her hair around his finger. "Beautiful," he whispered.

He was so unlike her, affectionate and devoted and unafraid of loving. He passed out compliments like they were pennies, but he meant them. "Flatterer," she teased softly.

Gentle fingers prodded at her horns. "Do you think they could poke my eye out?" he mused.

"You'll find out if you keep poking them." He chuckled softly and left them alone. He crossed his arms and shivered. She touched his hand delicately. "You need some winter garments," she remarked quietly.

"I could always snatch some from the market," he remarked. "Of course, fabric isn't easy to come by, but the middle class families are always charging the poor an arm and a leg for any clothing they need."

Maleficent rolled her eyes derisively. "Leave it to the humans to make enemies of one another." She folded her hands in her lap, and Diaval didn't touch her again. He wasn't_ too_ overbearing, really. No. There were a lot of words that could be used to describe her servant turned mate, but overbearing was not one of them. She began to mentally list them. _Talkative_. He loved talking. He loved listening to the sound of his own voice. But he was also a _good listener_. He was _obedient_, but not to a fault; he would never obey an order that he felt put her in danger, because that would contrast his _loyalty_. The words poured through her mind. _Clever, witty, patient, kind_. She knew that she lacked many of these traits, and she could only pray that their child was more like him than her.

"You're thinking," he remarked.

"That is a very astute observation, Diaval." She felt warm under his soft black gaze. "You're thinking as well."

"I suppose it's one thing we have in common," he whispered, giving a slight smile. He hesitantly reached for her hand, but drew back rather than taking it. He shuffled to his feet and tried to dust the snow off of his clothes. It really _was_ cold. In another life, he supposed he would have been sailing south for the winter. But he no longer had any desire to do such things. "Mistress?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"_Don't_ call me that." She rose as well. The thought of her name made her thoughts drift to the tiny magical essence in her belly. What would they name a son? A daughter? She had never imagined having children, not even when she was a girl, and she had no ideas. There were no relatives she knew of to name her child after; most of her early survival was thanks to (she loathed admitting this) the pixies and (this wasn't so bad) Balthazar. Yes, Balthazar was a viable name option for a son, she supposed, except she wasn't sure how she would explain to her child that he was named after a plant. She cleared her throat, and with it the thoughts from her mind. "Have the pixies killed the beast yet?"

"Flittle left her outside last night. I had to sneak it in the window. None of those imbeciles even noticed." His voice was thick with frustration. "For three relatively powerful magical creatures, they surely don't have much sense." He glared at the ground. It made no sense to him; why would they keep something alive so they could wait for it to die? There had to be easier ways—many of them!—to cause pain to the heartless king. Why not just kill him? Queen Leila didn't look to be a psychotic dimwit; surely she would be a semi-competent ruler, and definitely more approachable than the husband she'd been forced to marry.

But it was too late for those thoughts. Stefan was on the throne, and he was determined to destroy the moors. Diaval had no doubt that the king had replaced any sane council member with warmongers like him, and the queen was likely on the very outskirts of the picture, being ignored except for pretty occasions like parties and balls, which the raven knew there were few of.

He was glad to know that he would most likely be the one to raise his child. Without realizing it, he sighed in relief.

"What are you sighing about?" Maleficent questioned.

"I was thinking about how happy I am that neither of us is as idiotic as they." He smiled and began to follow her back to the cottage, just a half-step behind unlike his usual trailing after her. She thought fondly of how it now seemed she had a partner in crime, rather than an obedient servant shadowing her.

Diaval had taken shelter under the hollow of a fallen tree's roots, and it was still quite warm and dry under there. He crawled under them and inhaled the earthy smell. It was comforting, and he yawned. He hadn't slept during the night, frightened of the cold. But now she was with him, and she would keep him warm. His head fell onto her shoulder. Her arm gently curled around him. A contented sigh left his lungs. She was so warm and soft. The princess might have been the one with a sunshine name, but Maleficent was his sunshine. She was warm, and, though she would beg to differ, she was bright as a star. She was the center around which his universe revolved. She was his primary source of life.

He was almost asleep when she kissed his temple and pressed her face into his neck. Two tears fell there. He could feel the fear in her. She was afraid. He didn't want her to be afraid. But he also knew that she would never advertise her feelings to him when she knew he was awake. So he gently squeezed her hand. They would face this great uncertainty together, or they would flee it together. He would stay near her regardless of the decisions she made. "I love you," he whispered into her shoulder just before he slipped into sleep.

She tensed at his words. Experience had taught her that those words didn't mean anything. Anyone could say them and not mean them. Then why did they make her feel warm inside? Why did they soothe the terror in her belly and dry the tears that had just fallen from her eyes? They were meaningless. _No_, she reminded herself. They were meaningless from the lips of Stefan. Diaval was not the king. He was talkative. He was good at listening. He was obedient. He was loyal. She continued to list his traits repeatedly in her head while she, too, fell asleep.

* * *

He awoke groggily. She was sprawled across him, her face burrowed in the hollow of his neck. Her fists were tangled in his shirt, white-knuckled and too tight for him to pry away. "Mis—Maleficent?" he asked. But she was asleep, save for the occasional whimper and twitch of her face. He twisted a crick out of his neck and shifted out from under her, struggling to get in a more comfortable position while not waking her. He rubbed his sore neck and brought her close to him. Her head rested on his chest while he stroked her hair until he once again fell asleep.

At dawn, Maleficent's eyes opened to a kiss. "Mmph!" Her eyes jolted open. Diaval cupped her chin. She wrapped her arms around his neck and licked at his lower lip. He obediently opened up, letting her wander around him with her tongue. His hands slipped around her waist. They wandered up her shirt and grazed across her belly lightly. Her muscles jerked of their own accord. She expected for them to keep reaching up toward her breasts (Diaval was utterly fascinated with them, though she could not fathom why), but they grazed across her abdomen again. And again. And again. Until she broke their kiss and doubled over, pushing his hands away. "You're awful!"

He smirked at her and let his smile fall on her lips again. "It's cold," he breathed into her ear. "Perhaps we should warm it up a bit."

"Should we?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think we should." Her hands slipped beneath the hem of his shirt and grazed his sides. He went still. She let her fingers whisper up and down him until he squirmed uncomfortably. "But…maybe, if you're a good birdie…" She let the sentence hang in the air, finishing it with a stroke at the crotch of his pants. He sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "Are you going to be a good birdie, hmm?" She touched him again. "Hmm?"

He gave a jerky nod. Oh, these human desires were a force to be reckoned with; he couldn't fight them off or even dissuade them. Her touch was right there, warming him with her sunlight, because she was the sun. She was the sun and the moon and the stars, and his universe was spinning too quickly for him to keep up. Then her warm sunlight hands were snaking up his shirt. Determined not to be the passive member of their duo, he leaned forward and planted kisses along her neck. Warm chills were left behind where her hands trod across his torso. Soon, his hands were up her shirt. They cupped her bra-clad breasts and squeezed gently, and in response they hardened a bit, growing perky under his touch.

"Why are you so curious about those?" she whispered.

"Because I don't have them, that's why." He could feel her rosebud nipples through the fabric and ran his thumb over it.

She gasped at him. "Naughty bird," she managed before he did it again. She shifted herself into his lap, their hips resting against each other. Then she leaned forward, pressing herself against his chest while she suckled on his neck. He slid her shirt off with ease.

He reached around her back to unsnap the contraption that held her breasts. His hands ghosted across the burnt feathery stumps on her back, and she went rigidly still with a tight gasp sucking into her lungs. His hands slid down to the small of her back, where they were safer. "Does it hurt?" he whispered.

She sank into him, her belly pressing against his, her chin resting on his shoulder. "Not physically," she managed. The memories were attacking her. The last time she'd been held like this, she had lost everything she held dear. But now, she couldn't bring herself to feel concern, because everything she held dear was in the one holding her. He didn't kiss her or squeeze her too tight or tell her it was all going to be okay. He just kept his arms looped about her and let her remember. And remember she did.

After a few minutes of fighting away the memories, he finally stated, "This really is nice and all, but it's freezing, so can I please put my shirt back on?"

She reached for his tunic. "No, you can't, because it's mine." She winked at him and pulled it on. He grumbled in frustration and pulled her cloak around his shoulders; it kept him warm and comfortable, though he really did prefer his tunic. She inhaled deeply into his shirt. It was still warm from his body heat earlier, and it smelled like earth and feathers. With it came a sense of safety, and she lay a hand on her belly. Then, with a regretful sigh, she crawled out of the hollow. "Come on. We have things to do."

He grudgingly followed her out into the biting winter chill. "What kind of things?"

She looked out over the thorn barrier. It felt odd, bossing him around, now that her feelings for him were open. "We need to know what the army is planning." She glanced at him, trying to assure herself that he was fine with it.

He nodded. "Of course."

Yellow magic flashed from her fingers. "Be back by nightfall!" she called after him, an odd worry prickling in her chest as she watched the black bird flap away into the winter morning sky. His form was a mere speck by the time it reached the thorn barrier, and it disappeared completely by the time he had crossed it. It was only then that she noticed some thick, dark clouds moving in over the pale sun. She stiffened. A part of her wanted to call him back, but it was too late; he was too far away to hear her anyway. She wrapped her arms around herself and smelled his tunic again before heading toward the cottage.

* * *

Diaval swooped low over the farmlands, the fields barren and empty of life. That was a comfort to him; the farmers and their dogs frightened him. Catching sight of a few seeds on the snow, he landed and quickly gobbled them up. Food was hard to come by in the winter. He took to the air again, not missing the dark clouds that were unfurling across the sky. Apprehension reared its ugly head in his chest; should he return to Maleficent without the information they needed?

Of course he shouldn't; that was an idiotic notion. He had braved storms before, and she trusted his wings to get him through this in the same manner that he did. He flew to a castle window. Far below him, his most hated enemy was consulting his council.

The men were all old warmongers with thick beards and heavy iron suits that no longer fitted their deteriorating bodies properly. "We should burn it with fire!" one cried.

Another yelled, "Put the hideous witch in a net and watch her writhe like a caught bird!" Those words made Diaval's feathers ruffle slightly.

"I want to carve our seal into her flesh!" This was one of the youngest men. His eyes were almost yellow.

The most frail, old man in the room finally spoke. "Enough! These ideas are getting us nowhere. We cannot harm the witch or her wicked familiar if we cannot catch them, and catching them will require getting through that hideous wall they have constructed." The man had soft eyes with crinkles about their edges, and he was the only one that was not wearing that ridiculous armor, most likely because he could no longer walk with it adorning his body. "Sire, I suggest that we send small crews out to examine the wall from beginning to end and pick out its weak points."

A few of the oldest men murmured in agreement, but the king shot that down. "That's an obtuse waste of time. We need fire! We can burn it to its roots!"

Another man put in, "Sire, we haven't the resources to transport fire from here to there. Our canons are stationary. Bartholomew's idea should not be ignored; it—"

"Do not tell me what we should and should not do!" Madness leaked about the king's face in his thick beard and frizzy hair. "We will burn the wall! We will buy new canons and the gas to run them, and we will burn through the wall!" His fist slammed down on the table, and some of the men cheered.

One man dared speak out. "Sire…Our people must eat. We have little money remaining, and it should be reserved to purchase food and cloth for our people." After licking his slimy lips, he continued, "My daughters all have rips and tears in their dresses, and we have nothing with which to repair them or spin them new clothes. We have to draw—"

"Shut up!" Stefan slammed his fist down on the table again. "We will purchase the canons!"

The man bowed his head. "Yes, sire."

A hefty breeze blew in, almost knocking Diaval from his perch. Hearing the flapping of his feathers, the men glanced up. One shouted, "The witch's familiar!" and another cried, "Get it!" In a flurry of metal clinking on metal, men yelling and knocking against each other, knives and spears were hurled at him. He caught his balance and turned to launch into the air as a blade pierced the left side of his back. He squawked and took to the air. The blade clinked to the ground, and he was swept into the strong wind.

The blizzard was definitely coming in, battling his every wing beat as he struggled back to the moors. Soon, snow was marring his vision until it was a complete white death. Blood dripped out of his wound, and it was getting harder and harder to flap his left wing. Each movement made sharp, blinding pain flash through.

He only knew he was crossing the thorn barrier when he nearly decapitated himself on it. Giving a squawk, he fought higher into the winds, struggling to fly above it, until he had crossed over it. He landed in the snow and gave a cry. The bleeding was growing heavier, and he knew he couldn't fly much farther. He cawed again and again, losing his voice in the wind, until two warm hands cupped him and pulled him up. Frost was hanging to his feathers, and he couldn't see for fear of the cold freezing his eyes right in their sockets, but he knew her smell. Honey. Roses. Forest. Safety. He quaked madly while she tucked him close to her chest. Her gait rocked beneath him, smooth and quick and comforting.

"Lie still." His form liquefied and grew under her magic. "Don't move." She tore her cloak away from him and pressed her hands to the deep gash in his shoulder. Frost clung to his body, but she was only concerned for his wound, where a flash of white bone could be spied. Her magic poured into him, deeper and deeper, and he could only moan in pain. It was so cold, but her hands were warm, and they kept touching his bare back. "Don't move," she repeated. "I know it hurts." His muscles strained to reattach themselves and gradually did so, leaving a great scar there.

She made the roots curl tightly around the hollow, completely closing it to the frigid air and snow. Then she wriggled out of her clothes and curled next to him, wrapping them in a cocoon of cloth. "Maleficent," he finally managed to chatter out between his teeth. "The army…"

"Later, Diaval." She knew no men could get out in this storm. The hollow was black with no holes for light to filter in, but she still managed to find his hand and began to chafe it. He grunted. "I'm trying to help you," she muttered. She exhaled on his hand and began to rub it even more furiously, desperate to return heat to his digits.

Her eyes flashed even in the darkness. Their green-gold was unique and bright, though no light was there to reflect off of them. He tried not to complain at the pain she was causing his hand; he knew it was necessary, and it didn't hurt anything like the gash had. He began to suck on the fingers on his opposite hand, urging them to warm up before she would be rubbing at them, too.

She was warm. She was the sun. She was so warm, draped over him like a blanket, her flesh brushing his, and he didn't question her nudity. She was warmer this way, and he was freezing cold.

She reached to take his other hand and began rubbing at it. "I don't even get a hello kiss?" he chattered through his clacking teeth.

"You'd bite my tongue clean off in this state," she muttered. Her lips brushed his cheek, and he instantly felt a bit warmer. Then she went on rubbing his hand. "You're lucky you're not losing your fingers."

"I came home as fast as I could!" he protested.

"You should've turned around as soon as you saw the clouds! I worried myself ill!"

"You told me to spy on the men, so—"

"Diaval, never mind what I tell you!" Her eyes gleamed hotly. "_You_ are far more important to me than any piece of_ information _you may carry, and you are never to put your life in danger for something as trivial as this ever again! Do I make myself clear?" She lowered his hand back to his side and glared menacingly into his coal black eyes. "You could've died!"

He pushed himself up with a wince and managed to wrap his arms around her in the blackness. "I understand that." He planted a kiss right between her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'll come back next time." He didn't think it was worth arguing over.

She pressed her warm hands to his cool cheeks and rested her crown against his. He was cold. She would warm him up. But she had to make sure he stayed awake. "What happened?" She wrapped the clothes tighter around them. "What happened to your wing?"

"They spotted me and recognized me. Threw all their knives and spears, one of them got a lucky shot. It wasn't that bad." He pushed his hands in between their bodies to keep them warm. She was busy trying to dry his hair. The ice crystals were melting.

She paused. "Diaval, what are you doing?"

He touched her breasts. "I will never understand how you don't play with these all the time. They're very entertaining." The chatter had left his voice. He was no longer dangerously cold, but the chill from outside was still biting into his skin. His lips pressed above her right nipple.

She slid back down him. "My father always told me that the best way to warm someone up was to lie with them naked. I should have thought better of it before doing so with you, though," she teased. She kissed his lips gently. "Keep talking to me. You shouldn't go to sleep."

"Why talk when I can kiss you?" he mumbled.

"You may fall asleep."

"You insult yourself."

"It's your turn to tell the story," she replied. She traced the scars around his collarbones. "Come on, start talking."

He cleared his throat. "Alright. Um…Once upon a time, there was a dragon. This dragon's name was Chief, and he had lived in a cave his whole life, deep in the darkest blackness of black where the sunlight never filtered in, because he was scared of anything new, even if new might be good, because his father always told him that change was a bad thing, and being different was a very bad thing. So he lived all alone in his cave after his parents died and let the darkness nourish him for many long years.

"But one day, he heard a voice crying just outside his cave, and he wanted more than anything to make sure that the person outside was okay, but he was terrified to leave. The years had given him time for his imagination to roam wild, and he could only dream of the horrors outside of his cave. But the voice kept crying, and he kept worrying, until he went out to check on her.

"The sight of her was something foreign to him entirely. Chief was a large reptilian dragon, a giant golden lizard with wings as large as the sun. But this dragon was different. She was long and snake-like, and she levitated rather than flew. Her name was Selena. She was crying because the humans had taken her best friend, and she begged Chief to help her find him. Chief didn't know what a human was, but he knew it had to be bad and strong, because it was impossible for anyone to take down a fully-grown dragon, even if the dragon was a weird snake instead of a lizard."

Diaval paused to clear his throat, then continued, "He didn't want to agree, because he was scared, but he did, because he was enraptured by Selena, and he wanted to know which one of them was an oddity—him or her. So they sought out the humans and Selena's friend together. They toiled over their task for many years, and Chief grew to love his friend in a way friends don't love. But she made it clear to him that she didn't care for him that way. She just wanted to find her friend again.

"After a few more years, they stumbled upon a band of humans and discovered that her friend, Simon, had allied himself with the humans, and he attacked them under their command. Selena was heartbroken. She let the humans kill her without a struggle. Chief fled the scene and returned to his cave. He realized that all the things his father said about change and differences were true, and he never left his cave again, letting the darkness nourish him once more."

Maleficent deadpanned, "You have got to be kidding me." She suddenly felt the frustration she had given him so many weeks ago when she'd told him that Rapunzel grew old and died in the tower.

"Now you know how it feels," he replied smugly. "How did you want it to end?"

"Not like that."

His hand had found her breast again and was fondling it. "You change it the way you want. I like it the way it is." He flicked his thumb over her nipple, and she bit back a gasp. His hands were soft and gentle to her. "Why do women get these nice toys?" he remarked, but genuine curiosity laced his tone.

Then she remembered that he wasn't naturally a mammal, and he probably had no idea that there was an actual function applied to those "toys". She kissed his cheek. "They're used to nurse babies, Diaval." He gave one a gentle squeeze. "And I'll put my clothes back on if you keep messing with them."

He stopped. He didn't reply to her definition of the toys. "What other important things about human body function aren't you telling me?" He sounded slightly embarrassed.

She was quiet. "I don't know. What don't you know?"

"It feels like I don't know a lot of things," he replied. "It's all…foreign and strange, and sometimes it's scary," he admitted.

She kissed him deeply on the mouth, letting her tongue slide across his teeth. "Do you understand that?" she whispered.

His grasp on her tightened. "I think so."

"Then you know everything important." Their hollow was warm with body heat, and their cocoon of clothing was a safe comfort.

"Wait, I do have a question."

"Ask away."

"Why do you have horns?"

"You had to ask the one thing I have no answer to," she replied drily. "My horns only serve the purpose of getting in the way and keeping me from spying for myself." She felt him trace around their bases. It felt quite good, him touching the place where her scalp molded into a tough, hard substance.

"I think they're lovely." He kissed her hair. "I think I'm…what's the word? Twidderpated."

She gave a sigh of an unidentified emotion and nested her face into the crook of his neck. "I think you're a fool, Diaval," she replied softly and closed her eyes. His hands stroked her hair in a comforting rhythm.

He stayed silent for a long moment. "If loving you makes me a fool, then indeed, I am a great and terrible fool, and I will continue to be until I die." He rubbed her lower back gently until his eyes fell closed in sleep, and he left Maleficent sprawled across him, deliberating over their uncertain future.

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**A/N: I promise Diaval doesn't get hurt in the next chapter. I like damaging him :3 It is incredibly fun to torture characters that I am fond of. Oh, wait, I forgot, that's a quote by John Green, Veronica Roth, Rick Riordan, Suzanne Collins, and (most of all) JK Rowling!**

**Also, I am planning on them having a son; if anyone has any ideas for names, I am as clueless as Maleficent. So feel free to drop a review or PM with suggestions :)**

**Reviews are, as always, appreciated but not necessary! I am quite poor at replying to them. **

**Till next time, **

**-The Silver Trumpet-**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: At first I was concerned that these next few chapters were too short, but then I just shrugged it off. I spent most of last night in the ER with the stomach flu, and while illness tends to stir my creative juices, it also takes away from my basic grammar skills (there was one point in time where I was so muddled, I got July and January confused). Then I decided I didn't want to make my readers wait any longer, and I really did want the chapters more divided; they fit better into my plot structure like this.**

**Do not fear, readers! I do not intend to kill any characters in this story. I mean, it would be fun and all, but I don't think I'm going to. That, after all, can be reserved for another story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own nuttin'. If I owned Sam Riley, I would be producing his children. But I do not own him. So I cannot produce his children. Yet. And unfortunately they have not yet designed the science for me and Angelina Jolie to produce children without a man's assistance. So I don't own her either.**

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"It's crooked."

"It is not!"

"It is!" Maleficent insisted.

"It's _my_ wing, and I'm telling you it's not crooked!"

"You can't see behind you!"

"I think I would know whether or not my wing is crooked."

"If it's apparently so not-crooked, how come you're flying so lopsided?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

He flushed. "A gust of wind hit me! My wings are fine!" He crossed his arms against the cold as she prodded at his shoulder. He bit back a hiss as she pushed harder and harder against him, as though trying to bend his very bone structure. "Ouch, stop!" He tried to jerk away from her. She ignored his protests, instead taking him by the elbow and lifting his arm so it was level with his shoulder. Then she gently pushed it higher. His shoulder cracked loudly. "Ah!" He jerked out of her reach and cradled his arm to his chest. His black eyes smoldered hotly at her, looking almost betrayed.

"Be still, Diaval. You're hurt." Her slender digits began to probe at him again.

He twitched beneath her touch. "I wasn't hurt till you started messing with it." He rolled his shoulder back. It popped again, and the pain faded. "Don't, don't." He pushed her hands away. "Leave me alone and eat your apple," he grumbled. "A cat almost got me for it."

She conceded temporary defeat and picked up the fruit with the brilliant red peel. It had a small bruise; it couldn't have been easy carrying it all the way back to her from the human kingdom, and she imagined he'd dropped it. "Have you already eaten?"

"Yes," he lied. It wasn't a complete lie; he'd gobbled a few seeds from a leaking bag, but he hadn't eaten anything substantial.

She glared at him. He wasn't telling the truth. As was usual in the winter, they had both lost some weight, but he had been snatching treats from the humans and bringing them back to her. But she knew that he would absolutely deny being untruthful with her, because she knew that he was doing his best to feel that he was providing for his mate. _Curse ravens and their self-sacrificial tendencies._ She used her magic to slice it down the core and handed half to him. "Eat," she ordered.

He stared back at her—something he had taken to doing, now that he could glare at her without fear—and bit into his half of the apple. He didn't like the fruit as well as he would've liked a piece of meat, but it was still good, and it still filled his empty belly. "I can't wait for winter to end." He glared sullenly up at the gray sky. "I hate cold."

"Birds travel south for the winter, you know," she pointed out.

"They don't if their mates don't." He was irritated with her, though he could not fathom why. Perhaps it was that he wished to provide for her in a way that she wouldn't allow, or that he couldn't be everything she needed. He scratched at his ear and let his hair fall down over it with a sigh. It was too long for his liking, but he knew nothing to remedy it; the men in the kingdom never seemed to have a problem with it, though.

She slid close to him and touched his arm delicately. He looked to her. She nodded toward the cottage, where the beastie was toddling toward Knotgrass. The fairy turned peasant woman cooed in delight, catching the child before she fell in the snow. "They're too stupid to put shoes on her," Maleficent pointed out. Diaval hardly took notice, instead focusing on the joy in everyone's eyes, and he wondered about his own child inside her belly. He wondered what he or she would look like, and he wondered if they would have wings or horns, and he wondered if they would be as magical as the beautiful woman sitting beside him.

He kissed her cheek because he knew he could get away with it, and he knew it was okay when she gave him a chiding look but still took his hand into hers with a gentle squeeze. He reached over to touch her abdomen. She stiffened, but let him rest his hand there. "It's so hard to believe," he whispered. "That there's something alive, made of us, inside you."

"Don't make it sound creepy, Diaval," she teased. "Or we'll find out which one of us is more ticklish." In a smooth movement, he'd pulled her into his lap, gentle fingers grazing over her abdomen and sides. She doubled over in failed attempts to escape him. Her face was curled into a mix of a grimace and a grin. "Stop, stop!"

He paused. "What are the magic words?"

She glared at him, breathless. "Into a raven!"

He glided around her in a circle, ignoring the stiffness in his left wing as he sailed above her, giving out some squawks of defiance. Those weren't the words he'd wanted to hear. But he knew he might not ever hear those words, and he wasn't going to force them out of her. He perched on her shoulder and let her stroke his feathers.

"Those weren't the magic words, were they?" He squawked back at her. She grabbed onto his wing and stretched it out. "You _are_ flying lopsided, Diaval." She pressed her hands against the bones of his wing and felt down them carefully. Then she felt it; the slightest of notches was there, right where his bones were supposed to join together smoothly. "It's crooked," she whispered, almost to herself. But it was also healed completely. He claimed it caused him little pain, and if that was true, and he could still fly, was it worth breaking and healing again? It wasn't her decision to be made; it wasn't her wing, nor was it her arm. She ran her fingers over it again, and he tensed under her touch. "It hurts, doesn't it?" He looked away. "That's answer enough, I suppose." She let it fold back into his side and changed him back.

He rubbed the ache out of his shoulder, refusing to look at her directly. "Those weren't the magic words," he muttered.

"Why won't you tell me when you're hurt?"

His face drew into a frown. She touched his bicep. "It's embarrassing," he confessed finally. The chill nibbled on him from all around, and he pulled his tunic back on. "You take care of yourself all the time, but all I can manage to do is get myself hurt." His voice was more juvenile than he liked. He wished he was more like her; better at lying, concealing emotions, hiding feelings even from her voice.

"Diaval, don't be a fool. You go into the depths of our enemies and hope they just so happen to be oblivious enough to miss you, while I stay behind our thick walls and pray that you come home uninjured. Stefan—hell, all of them, probably—must think me a coward." She took his hand and squeezed it. "They only try to hurt you because they know they'll hurt me in the process." She tugged him back toward their hollow, which had become something akin to a home for them, despite its small size. "Come on. I want to show you something."

He obediently followed her back into the hollow and slid in next to her. It was dark inside, but warmer than outside, where snow still coated the ground. She murmured a few soft words and yellow light seemed to pour out of her. He cringed and looked away, shielding his eyes, before daring to peer at her again. She had taken a surreal glow all over, but there were bright balls of light over her heart, streaming through her head, and…one of a different color curled in her belly. The light there was an icy blue color. He touched her belly, ignoring the twitching muscles beneath her flesh. "What is this?" he whispered.

"It's a diagnostics charm that shows my magical essence and where my power is stored." She placed her hand on top of his, and the light left her, slipping over to him, where thin trails of light seemed etched into his skin.

He looked down at himself. "But, I'm not magical."

"Yes, you are." She kissed him. "You're a product of my magic. And I'd say you're the best one." The light faded away, and it was just them, just them together, snuggling close to each other and touching each other through their clothes. There was no angry desire, no bright and unfathomable need, but instead just a love. It was quiet and gentle, but round with affection and devotion, and it was the best either of them knew how to give or receive.

He nibbled at her neck and whispered, "I love you."

The words warmed her skin with his breath fanning out across her. She didn't know how to respond for a long moment, terrified to be honest, terrified to lie. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and finally replied, "I know," in a thin, brittle tone. He kissed her face gently, spreading warmth through her. There was fear in her deep, cold heart, but he chased it away, and she murmured, "I love you, too."

He didn't say anything in return, instead meeting her lips with his in a kiss, deep and sweet and as loving as he was in all his affection. He let his fingers brush her breasts gently, tickling them as he would her belly, and she sighed into his mouth. "_My_ toys," he murmured against her lips. He cupped them with his soft, warm hands, and just held them for the longest time before slipping his arms around her again.

She rested her chin on his shoulder and relaxed into him. "Do you want me to try to fix your wing?" she whispered.

"No," he replied softly. "I can live with it." The last thing he wanted was her slaving over his sore arm like it really mattered. "It doesn't matter much, anyway. It loosens up after I've been in the sky a few minutes." She rubbed at it with the heel of her hand, and he could feel the tension ease out of the muscles. He pulled her out of his lap and turned her around, combing through her hair with his fingers. Then he began to braid it. "You have such nice hair."

She almost laughed. "You sycophant." Almost, but not quite, instead letting slight warmth filter through her voice. Diaval could see the light in her. She was the sun, she was bright and warm, and he was drawn to her like a moth to a lamp. Ravens liked shiny things. "Where did you learn to braid?"

"I watched you." Several times, he lost himself in the simple pattern and had to try to remedy it. It ended up looking knotty in some places, but he still tied it at the end. "It's your turn to tell a story."

"You're not hurt or ill."

"So? Who said story time was reserved for just those days? We can have story time all the time!"

She sighed. "I don't have any ideas for stories right now." Knotgrass had always been the creative one, though the pixie's tendency to dress herself like a piglet was very distressing to Maleficent's eye. She didn't have any of the necessary creativity to whip up her own story, and taking someone else's seemed inherently wrong. "We could just talk."

"Alright." He was silent for a long moment. "What are we to talk about?"

She shrugged, though she knew exactly what she wanted to ask him, as an issue had been plaguing her for several days. "What do you think we should… I mean, have you thought of any names?"

He gave her a bewildered look. "Names?" He paused, raising an eyebrow at her. "You mean we have to name him—or her—all by ourselves?"

"Yes, Diaval. What rock did you just crawl out from under?"

He shot her an indignant look. "Ravens don't name their young."

"They don't?" She tilted her head at him slightly. "Where did your name come from, then, if not from your parents?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just…felt right, I guess, when you asked for my name. It came to me, so I went with it. Men have names. You made me a man; you gave me a name."

She frowned. She wasn't sure if she liked the sound of that. But she pushed those thoughts from her mind. "I assume that means you are as dry on ideas as I am." She touched his hand and traced circles on the back of it with her thumb. "It seems odd, of all the things I have to worry about, and one of my biggest concerns is that our child will arrive nameless."

"He won't be nameless," Diaval protested. "We've got many more months to think up the perfect name." He paused, thoughtful for a moment, before providing, "We should name him Rapunzel."

"That's a girls' name, and a hideous one at that."

"How do you know it's not a girl?"

"Intuition, I suppose." She yawned; even though it was not late, she was tired, and quite bored to add on to that. Intellectual conversation was something Diaval struggled with. "Any other suggestions?"

"I don't know many men, and I know none that I would want my son named after. It appears we will need to tap into our creativity, mis—Maleficent." The old habit tended to bite him in the ass right when he thought he'd completely eliminated it. He sighed. "Is it a custom to name a child after a tree, or other plant?"

She took back her previous thought about intellectual conversation. After all, cleverness was on her list of traits that her lover possessed. She mentally added _good father_ and replied, "They can be used as names. But there is no custom when it comes to naming children, except that it isn't something the child will hate you for later in life." She thought sarcastically of her own name, and of the many years she had spent as a teenager despising it, but now she thought it suited her.

A pattering from outside drew their attention away from conversation, and Maleficent peered out of their hollow to see rain pelting down. The thin layer of snow left on the ground promptly washed away. "Rayne," Diaval put in.

"Yes, it's raining."

"No, not rain rain. Rayne as in a name."

"Rayne is a girl's name."

He frowned. "Storm, then. Or River."

She gave a slight laugh, trying to put more emotion in it than she normally did; it was rare for anything to bring humor to her, and Diaval's onslaught of wit was occasionally too much for her to fathom, let alone laugh at. "You must like water."

"I daresay we all like water, seeing as water is required for most sentient and many non-sentient beings to survive." He cleared his throat. "I actually prefer the sun." His voice had suddenly gone shy, as though he was ashamed to confess that she was his sun. He was, in a way; the notion was childish and naïve. And she wasn't just the sun. She was also the moon, and the stars, and she was his galaxy and any other inhabited galaxies, and she was the universe itself compiled into one beautiful, amazing being. But he didn't expect her to understand any of these things, because she could never even begin to imagine herself through his eyes. "All of the sun names are girly."

"Hold on, I'm thinking." She tilted her head. "Yeah, you're right. They're all girl names. Damn." She tutted under her breath. There was nothing but everything in a name; a name could determine many things, but really determined nothing.

He squeezed her hand. "Certainly it's not a decision to be made tonight, my lovely." He kissed her cheek. "And certainly we can find a way to entertain ourselves while we're caught in this storm." He cupped her chin with his hand, bumping their crowns against each other, then their noses. "I would simply love to keep both of us warm in this cold spring rain."

"It's not spring yet," she whispered. He had called her a sweet name. She tried to pretend that it didn't make her skin warm up. "We're just a month into winter." She kissed him back and let her hands begin to wander up under his shirt. How many times had they done this? Not nearly enough, but far too many. She had him memorized, mapped out in her mind like these very moors. She knew his breath would hitch when she touched his side, and she knew that soon he would begin to touch her. She predicted it as his hands briefly ghosted over her abdomen and her muscles tensed of their own accord, and she knew exactly how his hands would cup her breasts and fondle them until their clothes came off. She knew that he would never make the first move, because he would never wish to frighten her or force himself on her, and she knew that if she ever wished to stop, he would do so immediately.

She pulled at his shirt, and he obediently let it slide off before reaching to pull off hers. There was always a slight hesitation in his movements as though he was awaiting rejection, but she was not looking to reject him. After a few more moments of kissing, he slid her brassiere off, and he didn't touch the twitching feathery stumps that adorned her back. His obedience level was off the charts. He lay back when she pushed him, and then he was still—almost, but not quite, passive—while she suckled on his neck and collarbones and down his chest. Down, down further still, until she was right before his length. Then, slowly, she took him into her mouth.

It was not long before she tasted him in a way she had not before, in a way that was foreign to her, but was still good. She couldn't describe his taste, except that it was similar to his smell, which was a warm and earthy and so safe and right. Then they were kissing again, and he was rolling her over, and there were stars in his skin while he licked her and explored her in ways that he had done before, but were still new. There were stars in his skin and in his eyes and all around. For several moments, he was the universe, and she was just a mere star of millions, but that was okay, because the universe loved her and appreciated her more than any other star in his vast sky.

He held her the way one would hold thunder, as if trying to prevent its escape, and she bit into his neck to restrain a cry. They curled together, her eyes closed tight, and the stars were behind her lids as well. There were stars everywhere. And she knew then that her son would be named Orion, after the stars that were holding her close and kissing her hair and gently guiding her to sleep, which she soon did in the arms of her stars.

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**A/N: Yes, the child's name will be Orion. I have quite the plans for our favorite family. But to get the plans finished, I must keep writing, and to keep writing, I must stop this author's note!**

**Reviews are appreciated but not necessary!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This is the second to last chapter. The ending is a bit rushed; I must admit that I was losing my zeal for this story and its completion. It went way too OOC to be salvaged. I may be writing a sequel at a later date, though. :) Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Maleficent. Wish I owned Diaval. **

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Winter was soon gone, and spring with it; summer bore down upon them, hot and sweltering and humid but still somehow dry. Maleficent was certain she was undergoing a pregnancy-induced hot flash until Diaval moaned and rolled over and whispered, "I _miss_ winter." Sweat dribbled down his temple. Their hollow was soon too hot for either of them to bear. The heat forced them down to the pool, where they constructed nests and did their best to keep mosquitoes away.

Weeks were spent with both of them moaning and mumbling about the heat. Her belly gradually rounded, and Diaval spent time stroking it and talking to it until her ticklishness almost earned him a hex.

"It is _so_ hot," the raven man complained as he floated on his back in the pool. His clothes had been discarded on the rock. The water hole was shallower than usual. "I never knew it could be so humid and so dry at the same time." He could apply many words to the sweltering heat—miserable, intolerable, impossible, un-survive-able—

"Complaining is getting you nowhere." Maleficent wiped her brow. She could never remember it being so hot before in her life.

He slid out of the pool and grabbed her arm. "C'mon, the water is much more comfortable," he coaxed. His hands slipped under her shirt and gently pulled it off. "It's cooler," he promised.

She glared at him, but obediently wriggled out of her clothing. "Alright," she agreed with a sigh. She sank into the water hole with him. He was right; while the water wasn't exactly cold, it was much cooler than the baking summer air. "Someone could see us," she pointed out, eyes flickering up to the open sky.

He let his lips brush hers. "Do I care?"

"Apparently not." She let him pull her into deeper water, the stone bottom smooth and cool against her feet. Without her wings growing heavy and sodden, she felt oddly weightless in the water, as though her feet might not touch the ground again. Diaval kept his arms around her waist and tugged her forward until she pushed her hand against his chest. "No, stop." He stopped. "I can't swim."

He bumped his crown against hers. "Alright." That was it; no argument, no convincing, no whining. _Agreeable_ was tacked on to the list of Diaval's characteristics. She could only remember swimming with one man—boy—before, and he had nearly drowned her in deep water. Fairies weren't meant to swim. Especially not if they had large, feathery wings that were easily water-clogged. He kissed her face lightly.

"You know that dogs are renowned for their desire to lick their master's face," she remarked drily.

He went stiff and glared at her, looking genuinely hurt. "Dogs are disgusting," he breathed. "The only creature I've ever met that is more revolting than a dog is a man, and I daresay there are _many_ men that are better than dogs." His spine gave a quaver as memories plagued him—memories of stinking hot breath and nets and loud, echoing barking. He owed Maleficent his very life; she had saved him from the fangs of dogs. But she still did not seem to completely understand how utterly repulsed he was by them.

She kissed him back. "I jest, Diaval, at your expense." Her slender fingers grazed over his scarred collarbones. "You are…" She couldn't produce the words to finish the sentence. Talkative, listening, obedient, loyal, kind, witty, clever, a good father. Agreeable. "Perfect." It was barely audible.

His warm breaths fanned across her face, earthy with a smell of blackberries and some other things unidentified. "You are my sunshine," he murmured into her neck. "And you're my moon, and all the planets aligned, and you're my galaxy and any other galaxies in this vast universe, because you _are_ my universe. You are my sun, my moon. You are my source of life. And if one of us is perfect, I am certain it would be you." He rubbed her belly in smooth circular motions, feeling the slight bump there that he knew would only grow over the coming months. "I love you, Maleficent. More than you'll ever know."

She was quiet. Because he was her universe, and she was just one star that he happened to adore, she could not fathom how he could mean all those things about her. But he would never lie to her, not about something like this. So she leaned on him, let their nude bodies press against each other despite in the heat. It felt good to be held in the cool water. "I love you so much." Her hands slid over his chest and sides, caressing each of his scars. The water slid around their limbs in quiet tinkling noises. She had never known that she could love like this. She had never loved Stefan like this, not even when she was a wee child with all the romantic notions of one.

Diaval spun her around and untied the braid from her hair, beginning to wash it with loving strokes and tugs to her scalp. She let him wet her hair, disregarding the water that dribbled into her eyes and poured into her ears, because she trusted him, and he would not hurt her. He massaged goat soap into her dark, stiff locks and whispered, "Beautiful." Then he rinsed her hair. She kept her eyes closed while the bubbles ran down her face. He turned her back around to face him and wiped the bubbles out of her face. He kissed her while her eyes were closed. "Mine?" It was a question whispered into her lips.

"Yours," she replied earnestly. She opened her eyes and grabbed at his smooth buttocks. "Mine?"

"Yours till the end of time," he promised. "Forever and always." He cupped her breasts and bent to kiss them. "My toys."

She smirked into his hair. "I believe they are still attached to my body."

"By that logic, my heart is still lodged in my chest, but it very much belongs to you." He kissed her collarbones. "And I have no desire to take it back."

She pulled his head back up to look him in the eyes. Her hand touched his chest. She could feel his heart beating there. Alive. Frightened, perhaps. Apprehensive. But ready to take a risk. He was ready to risk anything for her. Even his life. Even his heart. And she was grateful. She pressed her lips to his. Would she take those risks for him? She knew she already was. "I have thought of a name. If you approve, of course." She would not take away his right to name his own child.

"Alright, let's hear it." The sun was setting. He pulled her over to shallower waters, where they sat down next to each other. He held her hand in his; she noticed that his fingers were pruning, but didn't mention it.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Orion."

"That's a star, right?"

"A constellation," she corrected softly.

He slipped his arm around her shoulder. "I think that's a lovely name." He pressed his head against the base of her horn. "He is going to be magnificent." His hand grazed over her belly. "He is going to be beautiful. He is going to be everything we ever wanted in a fledgling." He kissed her temple. She didn't have the heart to voice her thoughts: that she had never desired children, not even when she was younger, and that she had never once in her life imagined herself having a child, let alone with a perfect raven man. She also didn't dare tell him her greatest fear, which plagued at her mind. It was too early for her to assume such things. There was a very slim chance that she would turn out like her mother. Her mother had been a weak fairy, and her body was unable to cope with the strong magical essence of a horned fairy like her father.

She pushed those thoughts from her mind. It was pointless for her to worry herself, and even more pointless for her to worry Diaval. She squeezed his hand. "Yes, he will. He will be perfect." She traced circles on the back of his hand. "He will be so perfect, Diaval. He is going to change everything we've ever known." Then she continued, "Neither of us will ever be alone again."

Together, they crawled out of the water, but didn't bother to put their clothes on. No citizen of the moors would dare look upon their queen's bare body. Balthazar would keep them in check. The two curled up in their nest together and let sleep guide them away.

* * *

Summer passed much more slowly than the seasons preceding it. Maleficent was often ill, and Diaval spent many mornings holding her hair and rubbing her back while she vomited. Her belly grew rounder by the weeks. Food was not in rich supply, but it was not as scarce as it had been in winter, and Diaval frequently snatched things from the human market when he went to spy for her (she failed to see how he had carried that whole basket of fruit in his talons; it weighed more than he did).

The men were getting more and more war-hungry. Their mobile cannons were scheduled to arrive in the early spring. The child was scheduled to arrive in late autumn, when the princess would be a year and a half old. No one on the human side of the kingdom had yet gotten word of Maleficent's pregnancy, but they feared it would arrive soon, and the men would take advantage of it. They would, of course; they were men, and this was war.

"Is a little rain too much to ask for?"

"I cannot make it rain."

He sighed and grabbed an orange. She despised peeling them, so he did so for her out of boredom; she didn't often send him away as she used to, instead keeping him nearby where they could speak and plan together. "Here." He gave her most of the slices, but kept two for himself. He was rather partial to oranges, as far as fruit was concerned.

It was too hot for them to sit close to each other without being in the water, and Maleficent feared letting Diaval spend day after day in the water hole; she didn't know if there were any health detriments associated with finger pruning, but she didn't want to find out. It seemed a trivial thing, but trivial things seemed to bother her much more than usual. Diaval mentally blamed it on hormones and did his best to stay close to her. He would dare to say that her ribs were more prominent than usual, but whenever he broached the topic, she denied it and claimed that he was too worrisome.

They often exchanged fantastical stories at night before bed, some fictional, some (particularly Diaval's) not so much. The raven told how he had earned each one of his scars, from the ones on either side of his face to the one stretching down his back. Maleficent knew how he had received that one, though. She did not suffer from memory loss and could remember clearly the day the unkindness had attacked him and had unfurled his flesh like torn cloth. It was also the indirect reason they were together and their child had been conceived.

Still, it made her incredibly angry to look upon it and know that someone—anyone, of any species—would deliberately cause harm to Diaval, her pet, her servant turned lover, the father of her child. She failed to see how anyone could ever hurt him with a clean conscience. He was the most beautiful, kind creature she had ever met, and she despised that he had to bear so many scars from so many different sources.

"Get off me. You're hot."

He smiled coyly. "Thank you for acknowledging my attractiveness, my lady. Perhaps I can interest you in a kiss?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead just swiping one from her lips.

She pushed him out of her lap. "I'm serious."

"Nice to meet you, serious."

"When did you get so annoying?"

"I have always been this annoying. I just needed a sun to shine on me and make it gleam and glow. Right, my star?" He leaned over her and kissed her again, ignoring the look that screamed '_I am not amused_'. He laid his arm across her chest.

She promptly pushed it off. "I am having a hot flash, Diaval." She rolled over and turned her back to him.

He went quiet for a moment. "Alright." The air was dangerously still for a few moments until, with a grunt and a cry of surprise, he scooped her up into his arms and began to carry her to the water hole. His arms trembled with effort; he was not a natural heavy-lifter, and she was as tall as he, but he did not complain or waiver, even when she hissed some unintelligible mutterings about stupid birds under her breath.

It was with all the care of a father that he lowered her into the water hole, and he sat down next to her. She refused to look at him. "That was uncalled for."

"You are hot."

"If I wanted to be in the water hole, I would have put _myself_ in the water hole."

He pulled off his tunic, not caring that his trousers were now drenched. "Well, now you didn't have to waste the effort. I'll carry you anywhere you want to go." He sounded smug, as though carrying her was some kind of accomplishment to him. Then he unbuttoned her gown and helped her slide out of it, discarding it next to his tunic. His hand stroked her belly in firm but gentle circles. "How much longer, now? Three months?" His voice was soft and almost apprehensive.

"Closer to four, I think." There was a familiar quiver there, as there often was when she was reminded of the baby's upcoming arrival. She was afraid. He couldn't blame her; he had heard tales of women dying during childbirth, and he had seen the pain it inflicted upon them while spying in the kingdom.

He squeezed her hand tightly. "I love you." He would not let her undergo anything alone, especially nothing like this. She would not be in pain alone. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

"That is a large promise to make."

"Alright," he amended. "I would rather die than let anyone hurt you. And you will never walk alone as long as I am here." He pressed his lips to the base of her neck and elicited a slight shiver. Then, trying to distract her thoughts, he continued, "We could go check on the little beast. It has been several days; the pixies could have her dead by now."

"I just got in this water, and I am not getting out." Her eyes challenged him with a mild sarcastic humor there, and he leaned his head on her shoulder in response. He lazily pressed his lips there. With an unintelligible mumble, he pressed them there again, harder. Finally, he gingerly sank his teeth into her flesh. She didn't flinch or move away, instead giving a breathy sigh and whispering, "I don't know what I did to deserve your affection, Diaval, but I am glad I have it."

"Yours," he promised. He licked her shoulder.

She grimaced. "For a bird who hates dogs, you certainly enjoy acting like one."

He decided to ignore her comment. "I can't help it when you taste so good," he teased. He looped an arm about her waist, and, with the cool water about him, she let him bring them close together. His eyes fell closed with one hand resting on her belly, his head on her shoulder, and he slipped to sleep, but she stayed awake.

She kissed his temple. "Sleep, Diaval," she murmured to him. The babe in her stomach stirred slightly at his touch. She rested her fingers next to his.

He had noted her weight transfer; she knew that the area about her ribs had become much less padded than was normal. She also knew that he missed the fevers she awoke with in the depth of the night, and she knew that he was still oblivious to her worsening condition. She needed to be honest with him. But she couldn't bring herself to hurt him.

He would be more hurt the longer she waited, she knew. And he would worry, and he would do his best to save her. She knew that she was undergoing the same thing that her mother had. Her body had begun to identify her child's magical essence as a foreign substance and was trying, bit by bit, to fight him off. She also knew that the fight would only grow stronger as her baby grew within her. She also knew that she would only get sicker as her pregnancy progressed, and she knew that hiding it from Diaval would not be an option much longer.

She did the only thing she knew to do. She kissed his temple again and whispered, "I love you, you silly bird. And I am grateful for all you have done for me."

* * *

**A/N: That's it for this chapter. I should have the next one up soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is the final installment of Sunshine! I might be writing a sequel, after I write a few one-shot plotbunnies that have been attacking me. I tried not to rush the end too much; this chapter was much more enjoyable to write than the previous ones.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

* * *

Autumn returned quickly with a cool breeze and many storms, and the couple headed back to their hollow while Maleficent was still mobile; as much as he would like to think of himself, Diaval knew it was a silly notion to consider himself strong enough to carry her that far. Her shoulders were slimmer than ever, her face nearly gaunt, and though her belly was as round as the sun, he was worried for her welfare. He estimated that their son was about a month away. Perhaps it was usual for women's health to decline before they birthed their children. He struggled with himself to avoid questioning her.

She crawled into their hollow with her arms tucked protectively about her belly. Her face was slightly flushed, and after touching her, he knew that she was feverish. "Maleficent, you're ill." He peeled an orange for her and handed her the slices one by one, not taking a piece for himself. Worry plagued him. "You are keeping something from me, aren't you?"

She was silent for a long time before replying, "Yes, Diaval. I have been for quite some time now."

He nestled close to her, feeling her tremble with fever. "Tell me, if you can?" It was a question. He would never demand anything from her, and this broke her heart in a new and unique way while she told him the truth.

She started with her mother's death just moments after her birth, and quietly explained why and how to Diaval's terrified ears. Then, she cautiously told him what she had begun to fear and now knew to be true—that her body had identified their son's growing magic as foreign, and that her body would try to eliminate it until she inevitably grew too weak to fight, like her mother had, and would die, perceivably just after or even before the birth of their child who so actively and so frequently kicked alive in her belly.

He didn't speak. He was deathly silent for several long moments. Then the floodgates burst, and he sobbed into her neck until it was wet with tears. He sobbed and sobbed until he could no longer muster the energy to cry, and his face was just buried into her, inhaling her scent. "You can't…" he whispered. "Can't leave me. Don't leave me. Please." His voice trembled too hard for him to speak steadily, let alone for her to understand him easily. "Please, I beg you. Don't leave me alone." His voice was not breaking so much as already broken, shattered, smashed like glass.

She swallowed hard to quell her own tears that threatened to spill over at his anguished tears. "I am afraid I have little choice in the matter, dear." She ran her fingers through his hair and hummed quietly to him. "It's alright. Calm down. I'm not dead yet. I'm still here."

"Please," he whispered hoarsely. "I'll do anything. I'll take it all back, all of it, and I'll never again love anyone. Just don't—don't do this to me, please!" His throat cracked again in emotion and the tears started down his face once more. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me."

She let a tear slip down her cheek. He was hurting. He was hurting so bad, and she couldn't fix it, and he was hurting because of her. She curled her arms around him. "Hush, hush," she whispered. She put her hand on his chest. "Life can do terrible things. And I wish you didn't have to learn this way." She swallowed hard. He wiped away her tear. "I will always be right here." She tapped on his chest, where his heart was beating just beneath the skin. "I love you."

"I don't want you in there!" He clenched his hands into fists. Anger and betrayal darkened his features. "That won't ever make it better! Because everything that's in there belongs to you! I'm yours, and you still seem to think that you can leave without taking me with you." He bumped his crown against hers. "You have to fight. Please." His tears ran down his cheeks and landed on her collarbones. "Fight, fight for me. I won't let you die. I won't. I swear I won't."

He was squeezing her tight enough to hurt, but she didn't protest, instead just kissing him. "I'll fight," she promised. "I'll fight for you, and for our son. Because I love you." She could never remember saying those three words so much. "I love you. I love you," she repeated, as though those words would somehow comfort him from being so distraught.

"How could you do this to me?" He inhaled her hair, wondering how much longer her scent would last on his nose. "You know…you know how much I love you…Why? What did I do?" The scent faded away much too quickly. He had to quickly suck in another breath. "I love you," he repeated, as though it mattered.

Her arms wrapped as tight as they could about him. "Diaval, I am so…_so_ sorry." She kissed his neck. "I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen to you." She was starting to choke up. Her life had been structured around vengeance of a broken heart, but all she had managed to do was break the only heart that mattered at all to her. "Lie still. Just be near me." He didn't deny her wishes. He just held her and occasionally let an unstifled sob when he could no longer restrain them. His hand stroked her belly. Inside, Orion kicked his father's hand.

He fell asleep with his face pressed into her hair, tears still wet on his cheeks. "I love you," she whispered. She squeezed his hand. There had to be a way to go about this whole dying process without hurting him, but she knew there wasn't. She had lost her wings. She had lost her heart. And now she was taking his away from him, ripping it right out of his chest as though it was a worthless possession to her. But it was the most meaningful thing she would ever own. Gingerly, she slipped into sleep with him. His arms formed a protective castle around her, and she knew that he would keep her safe.

* * *

Her fever was raging in the depth of the night three weeks later when the sharp pain went through her belly. Diaval was trying to coax some water down her dry throat. The first winter's snow had just begun to fall, but their hollow was ungodly hot. Then she could just moan and grasp at her belly while her mate tugged off her clothes and held her tightly. "Hurts," she rasped, her mind hazy with fever. Her lucidness faded in and out. Sometimes she remembered that she was giving birth. Sometimes she didn't. She only knew that Diaval was there, and that she was in such severe pain. She grabbed at him with white-knuckled fists and groaned and whimpered.

"I've got you, Maleficent. I've got you," he whispered while he stroked her hair and made her drink. "You're having our child now. I love you." He kissed her sweaty face. "This is a wonderful thing." His voice didn't say so; his voice said that he was scared. But he had the knife ready for when their son left her womb kicking and shrieking. He quickly severed the tie between them and wrapped him in all the blankets they had prepared. "Hello there, little Orion." He handed the infant to his mother. "See, Maleficent? Our son. He's beautiful." He looked quite like an ordinary baby, all red with rounded sausage limbs and a crinkled face. But he was beautiful, because he was theirs, a little piece of both of them.

"Orion," she breathed. She guided their baby to her breast and exhaled gently. Diaval's eyes flashed in alarm. He prodded at her fading pulse. Her breathing was lightening, losing its rhythm.

He panicked and tore their baby away from her. Her eyes fluttered back open, her lips parted in a protest she was too weak to give. Then she was in his arms. He dragged her out into the black of the night where white snow was hurrying down, and he laid her there and began to spread snow over her. "No, no," he whispered. "Don't leave me." He ripped away the remnants of her clothing and covered her in snow. Tears were freezing onto his cheeks as they slipped down his face, but her fever was burning the snow right off of her. _I have to break the fever. I have to break the fever. _He spread snow where some had melted and lay down next to her. He was deaf to his infant's cries from the hollow.

He retrieved his son to look upon his mother. It was much too cold for the baby to be out, but Diaval didn't dare leave the side of his mate. He swaddled the baby in his shirt. The cold bit into his skin, but he scarcely seemed to notice. Then, cradling his mate's head in his lap and his son his arms, he began to sing. "You are my sunshine…My only sunshine. You make happy, when skies are gray." The winds howled through the trees, as if to announce winter's arrival. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." The baby's cries quieted once he was being held, and Diaval let himself examine the boy.

He looked much like his mother with her cheekbones, eyebrows, and forehead. His lips were thin and red, his shoulders constructed even in infancy like hers. But dark, coal black eyes mirrored Diaval's and stared back at him. He kept singing his song and rocking his son. It could have been hours. It could have been days. He was blind to the passage of time, only focusing on Maleficent's breaths and his son's coos.

He suddenly broke out of his song to his mate and bent down to look at his son. "Don't you ever fall in love," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't you ever do this to yourself. Don't you ever love anybody. There's too much to lose." He looked back to Maleficent and prodded her neck for a pulse again. It felt stronger to him, but he was certain it was just wishful thinking. He was certain that her fever felt lighter because he had grown so cold himself out in the storm. Then he resumed his song. "You are my sunshine…"

He figured it would have been near dawn, if the sun would've been shining, when he began to sing the song again. His throat had gone hoarse and his son had fallen to sleep (though he was very careful to ensure the baby was, in fact, just sleeping). Then, almost as if he was in a dream, her eyelashes flickered but didn't open. "Diaval?" she breathed.

"I'm here." His voice broke. "I'm here, sunshine. I'm here." He bent his head down to hers. "I've got our son. He's beautiful. He…He looks just like you."

A slight smile came to her face. "I am sure…that he is just as hideous…as the beastie." Her voice was slow and filled with effort.

"Hush, don't talk. I'll get you back in the hollow, and then I'll peel you an orange, alright? You can hold Orion. He's made my arms sore." Diaval laid his son in the hollow. The infant, of course, awakened and began to shriek, but Diaval ignored him and lifted his nude mate from her place in the snow back toward the hollow. He was careful placing her back on the dry, warm moss of the hollow. Then he scooped the baby into his arms and handed him to his mother. "He's hungry."

She brought the baby to her breast and felt him began to suckle eagerly for her milk. "You saved me," she whispered. Her memory was a fog of pain and desperation, of reaching for him but being unable to touch him. She had known that she was dying, and she thought she had been in full acceptance of that. But she was alive on account of her mate. "Clever bird."

He kissed her forehead. "I can't live without you." He pressed his face into her hair while she cradled their son.

Finally, her eyes slid open. She looked at the handsome baby in her arms, and for a moment she was breathless. Diaval was right; it was nearly like staring into her reflection, only much, much younger. But he had his father's warm, coal black eyes. He had no wings. _Of all the useful traits I could have given him_, she thought drily to herself. But there were two smooth nubs protruding from his head that would only grow into horns like hers. "He's beautiful," she murmured.

"He's perfect." Diaval rested her head against hers. "I told you so, didn't I?" he teased. He was so close, right there next to her. "The sun is too perfect to produce anything less." His arms were strong around her, his eyes still reddened and bloodshot from where he'd been crying. "I love you." He kissed her temple, and she could feel the love streaming so brightly from him, so pure, so untainted. His every word and heart beat screamed love, _love_, **_love_**. "Maleficent," he breathed, and she shivered with the devotion in his voice.

She leaned into his touch and replied, "The sun needed some help from her stars." She could feel the remnants of her wings quivering against his chest, but, for once, memories didn't come back to haunt her. She gave a soft sigh and let her eyes fall closed. She was safe and warm and protected in the arms of her universe. "I love you." Her muscles began to relax into sleep.

He began to hum his little song again, and she wondered where he had heard it, but she didn't question, instead letting his voice soothe her into a peaceful slumber.

While her sleep was deep and undisturbed, it was short lived. Orion awoke wailing. Diaval had placed him in the basket they had woven for him several weeks before. Both of them shot awake and tripped over each other to get to him. His mother reached him first (though Diaval claimed that his foot got hung on a root; there was _no way_ a woman who had just given birth could possibly outrace him) and picked him up, but it did not at all comfort the infant, who continued to wail.

After nearly twenty minutes of sustained failure, Maleficent handed him to Diaval. "Your turn." His father accepted the warm bundle, but stared blankly at him. He tried rocking him, humming to him, and even dared to sniff his butt before looking back to his mate.

"I give up."

Her eyes were falling closed, and she was highly tempted to plug her ears. "Figure something out," she mumbled. "You can peel an orange; this should be a cinch."

"But I don't—"

"I gave birth to him. Your. Turn."

He sighed and laid the baby on his shoulder and, remembering something he had seen in the village before, he began to pat firmly on his back until he burped. His cries faded into coos and eventually completely left. Another sigh—one of relief—left Diaval's lungs, and he settled the infant back in his basket. "One point for dad, zero for mom." Maleficent couldn't have cared less; she buried herself back into her mate's arms and let the warmth of their little burrow chase away the chill from outside.

It was, unfortunately, less than an hour before he jolted awake again. Diaval groaned. "Your turn."

Their days were eventually divided into shifts of _who-gets-the-crying-baby-when_, and several times they barely missed discovery by the pixies. Winter grew stronger, and the raven found himself ever more frequently heading into the townspeople's homes to snatch baby clothing. He often came home with scratches and bruises, and Maleficent worried for him, but didn't dare stop turning him; he was also the only glance anyone had of the army, and while the fairy claimed it didn't matter anymore, they both knew that the humans were a growing threat, especially toward their child, should his presence be discovered.

The day was a bit sunnier and warmer than usual; some of the snow had melted, and spring appeared to be on its way. Maleficent sat outside the hollow while Orion slept in her arms. Her powers had dried the ground beneath her, and she was awaiting Diaval's return when the raven gave a squawk and practically dove at her head out of the sky. She changed him before he was prepared, and he nearly busted his head open on the trunk of a fallen tree and stumbled over to her. His right forefinger was bent, explaining his lack of control while flying.

She grabbed his wrist and quickly healed his broken finger. "Are you alright?" she demanded, scanning him for any other wounds, but he seemed otherwise untouched. "What happened to your wing?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, I almost—" He took a sharp breath. "Not important, they're coming." He shoved his hand through his hair. "They're coming, they've got the biggest artillery I've ever seen, they've got cannons and bombs and—and the most iron I've ever seen." Maleficent leapt to her feet and carefully laid Orion in his basket. She waved her hand to turn Diaval into something, anything, which could take their son to safety, but he caught her hand. "No!"

"You need to take him somewhere safe."

"Not without you!" He shook his head again. "I won't let you face them alone!"

"You need to take him somewhere safe," she repeated, as though that phrase could somehow be forced through his head and make him understand that her son's safety was of utmost importance. "I will be fine."

He kept shaking his head. "You'll never walk alone. I'll never leave you!"

"This isn't up for debate, Diaval!"

"But—"

Their feet had carried them nearer to the thorn barrier, and the blast rocketed through them. They were slammed to the ground several feet away from each other. Orion began to wail. Diaval swung back toward Maleficent with his jaw hanging open. He was trying to yell but her ears were ringing too loudly for her to hear. She waved her hand, and he was suddenly a great bird, much larger than his raven-self, and he took the handle of the basket into his talons and left into the smoke-stained sky.

He carried the crying baby over the thorn barrier on the far side, where no men had yet reached, and headed to the only safe place he knew—the cottage of little Aurora and the three pixies. He landed in some nearby shrubs and tried to soothe his wailing infant with his beak and feathers, but Orion wanted arms and quite possibly he was hungry, leaving Diaval helpless. Soon the bird was forced to move farther away from the cottage for fear of drawing the pixies out.

By the time Maleficent found them, hours had passed, though the time could not be determined by the sky; the smoke had blackened it. Diaval swooped toward her and enveloped her in his arms as her magic sprang from her fingers. "Are you alright? Maleficent?" He pushed her back to look at her and scanned her up and down with his eyes. She had a few cuts and bruises, but she looked alright. He hugged her again. She smelled like smoke. The end of her hair was singed.

"How dare you defy me like that," she hissed, pushing him back away from her. "You could've gotten killed. You could've have gotten our son killed!" Her voice was rising. "You can never do anything like that again!"

He went stiff. "I would do anything to keep you safe!" The loudness of his own voice shocked him. "I would give my life for you! How could you even think that I would willingly leave you in that kind of danger?" He threw his hand through his hair. "You can't order me around anymore! I repaid my debt to you! I saved your life!"

She glared hotly at him and stormed toward the basket. She quickly lifted her son out of it and swung back toward Diaval. "Is that _all_ I am to you? A life-debt that needs to be repaid?" Her voice was venomous, toxic; it stung the raven man to the core.

She was about to continue, but Diaval cut her off. "Well, it seems all I am to _you_ is a replacement for the king, so I guess we're even!" He regretted the words as soon as they spilled from his mouth, and he instantly wished he could take them back. But he couldn't. Her mouth dropped open in an expression of shock that he had never seen so brutally expressed on her face before. She turned into the forest and walked away, clutching Orion to her chest, and Diaval didn't dare follow her.

He stayed near the cottage that night, but was trapped in his human form without Maleficent. He didn't know where she had gone, only that she had started out heading further away from the moors rather than back toward them, and that worried him. So he stayed near the cottage, because the cottage was safety to him. He was cold without her arms around him. He was wide awake, his senses attuned listening for a child's cry that would never come. Eventually, he struggled to his feet and walked after her trail. The light was faint, the snow still thick in places. He kicked it away and searched for flowers; he had seen men give their wives flowers when they were—what was the phrase?—in the doghouse.

Many of the flowers he found were actually hardy weeds that were buried under the snow. Some were yellow, some were blue, a few red. But most were green-gold. He picked the whole patch when he found them, astounded that a wildflower could somehow mirror the exact color of Maleficent's eyes.

A squawk drew his attention up into a nearby tree. A familiar bird rested there. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't look at me like that. Men have squabbles, too." Her cry was a bit angered. "She has my fledgling! It is not your right to tell you what I am and what I have!" She clacked her beak at him and flew to a different tree. A male raven greeted her there. Under his breath, he grumbled, "At least one of us is happy." He plucked a feather from his hair and tied it in with the droopy, wet flowers.

He walked through the night, following the footprints in the snow until morning, when the snow almost completely melted away, and he was reduced to calling out like he had so many seasons ago. "Maleficent?" The flowers were saggy and sad looking. "I'm sorry." He wondered if those words meant anything at all, or if he was now next to the hideous king in his mate's eyes. "I got you some flowers!" As if that meant anything at all. He winced at how pathetic his voice sounded. "Maleficent, please, I'm sorry."

She stood with her back to him when he broke through the bushes. "What do you want?" Her voice was terse.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Please…I didn't mean it. I was upset, and—"

"Do I really make you feel like that?"

He went stock still, his fist white-knuckled around the flower stems and their intertwined feather. "Pardon?" he breathed, though he knew exactly what she was referring to.

She turned around to face him. Orion was clutched to her chest. He looked to be asleep. "Do I really make you feel like a replacement?" Her expression was guarded, but her eyes glittered like emeralds with the emotion they held.

He shook his head. "No, never! That was me, I was stupidly self-conscious, I was be—mmf!"

She closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his. "You are not stupid, Diaval." Orion cooed at them and made a giggly sound. "And I am sorry, as well." He smelled as he always had—earthy and safe, with blackberries and a bit of lumber mixed in. She had spent only a night without him, but it had been a sleepless night, and he had been greatly missed.

He looked to her eyes. She still smelled faintly like smoke, but her minor injuries were already healed. "Are you alright?" he asked with a slight smile.

She wrapped her hands around his weed bouquet. "Yes, I'm fine." She examined his hand. "What happened?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. She had never gotten his answer as to how he'd broken his finger; the battle and then their argument had come too quickly for that.

"I'd rather not say." She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's really embarrassing." Her face begged for an answer. "Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh." She nodded agreeably; it couldn't possibly be that bad, could it? "When I saw the men coming, I panicked and turned around, but a breeze caught me and I almost impaled myself on one of the thorns." She promptly burst out laughing. "You promised not to laugh!"

"Diaval, I just—I can't even fathom how silly it looked, watching a bird fly straight into a thorn."

He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and kissed her again. "Home now, then?" he questioned, letting his arms loop around her waist. She let him grab Orion. "He grew since I last saw him."

She rolled her eyes. "All he's done is eat, poop, and cry for you. Or his basket. I wasn't quite sure which he missed more," she teased. Her gaze darkened ever so slightly. Diaval was too attuned to her to miss it, and he questioned it with a grunt. "The men heard him crying," she explained softly, "before you took him. They put two and two together, what with the constant missing fruit and baby clothes." Her lips trembled slightly. "He's not safe with me anymore, Diaval." She lowered her voice. "You're not safe with me. I curse everyone I touch."

"That is not true, and you should not even try to make me believe it. You are the only thing that gives meaning to my life."

She stared at him. "I am being serious, Diaval. I think you should take him and leave the moors."

"And I am being serious. _No_." He met her gaze earnestly with a black fire of passion in his eyes. "I will not leave you here alone to wallow in your misery and blame yourself for this grand mess that we're in. I will face every challenge alongside you or die trying." Orion had fallen asleep in his father's arms. "I am yours, and I don't know what part of that you just can't understand."

She sighed. "Alright," she agreed quietly. She was relieved that Diaval wouldn't be leaving her. She didn't want him to go. But their son needed to be protected. "Diaval, they'll hunt us down. They'll kill either one of you just to hurt me." She met his flashing gaze. "I can't force you to leave me. But we need to do what's best for him."

Their footsteps had taken them back toward the cottage. He looked there. "You can't be serious, Maleficent."

"I am." She shivered. "I…The pixies are incompetent. But we are always watching them, making sure they don't kill the princess." She looked at her son, curled so quietly in her mate's arms. "I want to do what's best for him. And if that means giving him up, I'll do it. Even if it's the hardest thing I've ever done." Her eyes were swimming with tears, but she didn't release them, instead holding Diaval's arm in her hand.

He looked to the cottage and back to her. "If your mind's made up…I'll support your decision." His black eyes looked down at his sleeping son. "This is our battle, and we'll fight it together. I love you, and I love him." He kissed the infant's forehead. "Mother knows best, little one." The raven man let his mate gather his son into her arms. She laid him carefully in his basket and lifted it with care.

Together, they walked to the doorstep of the pixies and set the basket there. Two obsidian eyes flickered open, but the babe did not begin to cry, instead staring up at his parents as though he somehow understood their plight.

Diaval squeezed Maleficent's hand. "They'll come outside soon."

She looked down on her son once more and waved her hand over him. Yellow magic floated down upon him. His hair lengthened and lightened into a shock of blonde. His nubs shrank into his head. His eyes turned a bright azure. His face shifted, rounded so that it resembled the princess quite a bit. "So the pixies won't know he's ours," she explained softly. She touched his forehead and whispered, "I love you, Orion." With a final touch, his name embroidered itself onto his blankets.

Diaval kissed her forehead. "We'll watch him from a distance," he promised. "We'll take care of him from afar, until the glamour charm wears off. And by then, all this drama will be over."

"Fifteen years," she whispered. "It will disappear on his fifteenth birthday." She counted in her mind. It would be just a few months after the princess underwent her curse. Would the drama end then? Would their fight be over? Would they even be alive? Maleficent wasn't sure. But she was sure of one thing—she was making the right decision for her son. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much she wanted to undo it. She made the charm permanent and took her mate's arm. "Let's go, Diaval. We need to have a nest near here by nightfall."

They turned and walked into the forest, listening to Knotgrass's surprised cry as she discovered their little boy.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, the ending was quite sudden. But this story had gotten too OOC for me to like it much. I may be writing a sequel. Perhaps. I also intend to continue writing Maleval one-shots and such, so feel free to follow me! **

**Reviews are appreciated but not necessary!**

**Until next time, **

**-The Silver Trumpet-**


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